Doralice
by MaverickLover2
Summary: How do you arrange a Mexican jail break? It helps when you play on the right Maverick's sense of chivalry. That and lots of money.
1. Chapter 1

Doralice

Prologue

"It would have been a whole lot easier if you'd just agreed to take the job, Mr. Maverick."

Bart nodded in agreement with Maude Donovan, who was currently holding all the cards. Not literally, of course, but the gun aimed at a bound and gagged Bret Maverick was a powerful persuader. "Now that you have my attention, Mrs. Donovan, just exactly where is your daughter?"

"Like I tried to explain before, Mr. Maverick, she's in a Mexican jail in Reynosa. Right across the border. It's simple. All you have to do is get her out and bring her home."

' _Nothing's ever simple,_ ' he thought. "And if I don't, Mrs. Donovan?"

Maude pulled back the hammer and fired, almost hitting Bret. "Next time I don't miss."

Bart tipped his hat. "Yes, ma'am, I believe we understand each other. You will take good care of him while I'm gone?"

Maude Donovan laughed wickedly. "Oh I intend to, Mr. Maverick. I certainly intend to."


	2. Headed Home

Doralice

Chapter 1 – Headed Home

Why did it always seem strange when they headed east instead of west? Bart had been asking himself that question for over a week and he still didn't have an answer. The change in direction didn't seem to bother Bret one bit, but he just couldn't get used to it.

They'd gone through all the little Arizona and New Mexico towns before they got into Texas, and it was a relief to finally be back home, even if everything looked different than the last time they'd been in this part of the country. The Texas Rangers had been taken over by former Union forces and been disbanded, to be reformed and renamed the Texas State Police. The cities and towns were growing at an alarming pace; sometimes it seemed like there were as many people in Texas as cattle.

They rode all day and found the next small town or stage stop, then played poker and slept in real beds, except in Anders Peak. If those were beds, they needed to be burned and never slept in again. Still, it was better than sleeping on the hard ground and Bart's back was grateful for that small comfort. It was difficult to win money of any consequence in the blink-and-you-miss-'em cattle towns; by the time the cowboys got done drinking up their wages there wasn't much left for other types of recreation, such as card games. With what Bart had saved from his successful poker run as Doc Holliday it was more than enough to get them home.

Bart felt the pull of Texas almost as soon as he remembered his life as Bart Maverick. He and Bret had been separated for nearly a year and his brother was so happy to have him back he'd have agreed to go anywhere. They said goodbye to Doc when their friend headed back to Tucson; almost getting killed there had been enough for Bart. He had unfinished business with Pappy, and it was time to heal old wounds. And it would be a joy to sleep in a real bed and eat real food, made with loving tenderness by Lily Mae Connors, who had long ago ceased to be Uncle Ben's housekeeper and was a treasured family member.

There was plenty of room. Pappy had left the little house the brothers grew up in and moved into the big house with Uncle Ben; it was easier on everybody that way. Pappy even had to maintain regular hours, Lily Mae wouldn't stand for coming in at all hours of the day or night. According to Uncle Ben's letters they'd gotten into a nice little routine. Lily Mae fixed supper and then retired for the night, Ben and Pappy went into town to play poker and came home by daylight. Anyone who stayed at the house was expected to abide by the routine.

Bart was still trying to process everything that had happened in Arizona. No matter what he did or didn't remember, what he had or hadn't done, he'd loved Amy with all his heart, and he'd come close to spending the rest of his life with her. Yet when they parted it seemed right. She wouldn't go with him and he wouldn't stay. That looked to be the story of his life. He found a woman and fell in love, and something beyond their control pulled them apart. Maybe it was time to forget about the females of the world for a while and concentrate on something else. Although when he tried to picture a life without those same females, it seemed impossible.

The closer they got to Little Bend the more peaceful he felt. His life had been in so much turmoil for so long that the change was a welcome one. He felt close to Bret again; it was comforting to actually know how much he meant to his brother. When they reached the next town, he took the time to send a wire to Beau in Silver Creek.

 _We miss you._

 _Come home._

 _Your brothers, Bret and Bart_

The 'little town' wasn't so little anymore. While they were gone Little Bend had doubled in size, and they didn't recognize a lot of the new structures and businesses that populated the town proper. Two new saloons, a tobacconist, an expanded barber, something the locals called a 'drug store,' a ladies dress shop and milliner, a brand spanking new building for the bank, and a jail that actually looked like a jail, instead of the boarding house it used to be. There was even a hotel under construction, with a separate bath house and an actual ballroom.

The Mavericks took it all in; had they really been gone that long? They rode on down the street and passed the new 'Mamie's Home Style Cooking Café', Fred Taylor and his new bride were just leaving. Fred was a hellion growing up until Bart cleaned his clock one afternoon on the way home from school – after that he became a friend and trusted companion. Fred swore he'd never marry and settle down, yet here he was with a wife, running his father's cattle ranch.

Finally, they ran out of town and rode on through the countryside they remembered until the road forked left and they headed towards 'the mansion', as Pappy had taken to calling Ben's house. Uncle Ben had finally persuaded Beauregard to move in with him when Pappy got tired of trying to keep a housekeeper employed for more than a week. Even at his age, Pappy had an eye for the ladies, and though his heart would always belong to Belle, he tended to hire sweet young things more for the way they looked and less for the way they cooked and cleaned.

Soon enough the house came into view. Somehow it looked less like a Texas ranch and more like an antebellum mansion than ever. Lily Mae had every kind of flower in front of the house that would grow in the dry Texas heat, and even though winter was creeping up on them, it was still a cascade of color. As soon as she heard the horses Lily Mae was on the front porch, a big smile on her face. Noble snorted and whinnied like he hadn't since they left Arizona; somehow he knew this was a welcome place to be.

"Come down here and let me look at you both," she commanded, and just like the dutiful 'boys' they were, they obeyed. Each was enveloped in turn by a 'Lily Mae' hug, but when she got to Bart she held him at arm's length and scolded. "You're bone thin, boy. We'll have to do something about that." She pinched Bret's cheek and made him blush when she told him, "Handsome as ever, you devil. Do the girls still chase you down the street?" She was alluding to an incident from his youth he'd just as soon forget.

Having heard the commotion, Ben and Pappy finally appeared on the porch, rubbing the sleep from their eyes and trying not to look excited. This time the greeting started as handshakes and ended as hugs. Pappy looked like he might faint when Bart wrapped him up in an embrace and simply whispered, "Pappy." Surprised and shocked, he pulled away from his youngest son and just said "Bartley."

Uncle Ben looked sad and worn-out. No doubt affected by his daughter-in-law's death, he sounded surprised when he told them, "I don't know what you did, but I got a telegram from Beau. He's coming home."

Bret looked at Bart, who'd sent the telegram without his older brother's knowledge. "Good," Bart pronounced. "He should be with his family. Jody's got Beckham to lean on, Beau should be here with us."

"What did you do?" Bret asked.

"Sent a telegram one night when you were busy," came the answer.

Greetings over, Bart grabbed his bag and handed it to Bret. "You take this in, I'll get the horses," and wandered off towards the barn with Noble and Bret's horse.

"What's gotten into him?" Pappy questioned.

"That's the new, improved Bart," responded Bret. "Been like that ever since Apache Junction. The last year's changed him, Pappy. He's not the same impulsive kid." He shook his head. "Don't get your hopes up too high. Bart's still Bart. But he seems to think before he acts these days. It's been a nice change." Bret put his arm around his father's shoulders. "Come on, let's enjoy it while it lasts. We can always hope the change is permanent." He turned his attention elsewhere. "What's on the stove, Lily Mae?"


	3. A New Vision

Doralice

Chapter 2 – A New Vision

Lily Mae was so worried about Bart's weight, or lack thereof, that she sat at the table while they ate and watched every bite of food he put in his mouth. She refused him a second cup of coffee until he'd committed to a piece of her blackberry pie, then walked away happy when he cleaned his plate.

"Good grief, Lily Mae, I'll weight three hundred pounds if I eat like that at every meal!" He laughingly protested.

"I heard that," she called from the back of the room. "Your brother eats twice that much and he's fine."

"Yeah, but he eats like a Maverick. I've got Momma's appetite."

"Don't you lie to me like that, young man. I've seen your mother eat. She was no dainty flower when it came time for dinner."

Bart shook his head and looked at his brother. "Help me out here, would ya?"

"No, sir, you made your own bed. You lie in it," Bret answered him. It felt surprisingly good to be home, even if 'home' was Uncle Ben's house. "Saw the new saloons when we came through town. How're they for poker?"

"Sometimes good, sometimes bad," Pappy offered. "The 'Horseshoe's' alright if you don't mind the stench of cattle all the time. 'Maude's' is real nice." He grinned as he said it, and everybody at the table knew what he meant.

"You still chasin' girls young enough to be your granddaughter?" Bart asked.

"Somebody has to," his father answered. "What about you two? Anything interestin' on the romantic front?"

Bret held his breath, waiting to see how Bart reacted to that. Pappy was the one who'd always made them promise not to get married until they were thirty-eight, but he was constantly inquiring as to the state of their romantic life.

"Nope, nothin' exciting to report," Bart answered casually. "What about you and Gida? Now that she's moved over to the Louisiana side, are there still sparks there?"

Pappy just grinned. "Can't very well conduct a courtship when one of you's in Texas and the other's in Louisiana, can you?"

Bret exhaled, thankful that Bart hadn't divulged his latest romantic fiasco to their father so soon after arriving. He thought a change of focus might help. "Saw Fred Taylor as we passed through town. New bride and all. What changed Fred's mind about marriage?"

Ben spoke up. "Hear tell there's a baby on the way. That's bound to change a man's mind."

"Pretty little thing," Bret added. "New to town?"

"Fairly new. Her daddy's the barber got added to the barber shop when they expanded. Wasn't too happy at first, now he seems to be okay with Fred as a son-in-law."

"A grandchild on-the-way'll do that for ya."

"Yep. Say, what's up with the hotel?" Bart inquired.

"They need a place for your Pappy to stay when it gets too late for him to sneak home," Lily Mae called from the other room. The woman still had ears like a rabbit.

"Pappy, are you still trying to circumvent Lily Mae's rules?" Bret wanted to know.

Beauregard grinned again. "Who me?" Would I do that?"

Four voices answered as one. "Yes."

Lily Mae came back to the table. "There's rooms upstairs for each of you. I've got one ready for when Beau comes home, too."

The mention of Beau made Ben look even more miserable. "Bret, you're the only one that's seen him since Georgia passed. How was he?"

Bret hesitated to answer, then decided the best thing was to be honest. "He wasn't good, Uncle Ben. He loved her desperately, and now she's gone. Guess everybody here knows how he feels."

Beau and Ben had both lost the love of their lives to illness. Bart's wife was murdered and Lily Mae lost her husband in the war. Bret was the only one who hadn't lost a spouse; Marybeth Canton's death in Montana was as close as he'd come.

"I'm glad he's on his way," Ben remarked. "I tried everything I knew but he was insistent that he was staying in Montana. What'd you tell him, Bart?"

For some reason he'd kept the penciled telegram message after the Western Union clerk sent it. He pulled it out now and tossed it on the table. Bret was the first to grab it and he read it aloud. "We miss you. Come home. Your brothers, Bret and Bart."

Ben looked at his youngest nephew. "Now I understand."

"What?" Bart asked.

"It was the signature that got him."

Bret looked at Pappy as if to say "See? I told you. The new improved Bart."

Bart shrugged his shoulders. "Just told the truth. We are his brothers."

"Still – " Ben started. "You know how he's felt ever since he got sent to England." That was still a sore point between the original brothers, and Bentley glared at Beauregard.

Bret stepped in quietly. "WE never wanted him to feel that way."

Bart shook his head in agreement. "Nope. Not our idea."

Pappy threw his hands up in the air. "He won a medal!"

"Not his fault." Bart reminded his father.

"Yeah, he was in the wrong place at the right time," Bret added.

"You should have asked before you did it," Ben finished.

Beauregard was through. "Enough. It's over and done. Find something else to hate me for."

"Nobody hates you, Pappy," Bart reminded him.

"Hmmmpf. Couldn't prove that by me."

Bart stood and stretched. "I don't know about you all, but there's a bed upstairs callin' my name. Lily Mae, you need any help before I go?"

The housekeeper looked at the sweetest natured Maverick, the one who had caused her an untold number of gray hairs, and wasn't sure she'd heard him right. "You want to help me?"

"Yes, ma'am, that's the idea. Anything you want me to do?"

"Nooooooooooooo. I don't think so."

Bart saluted and headed for the bedrooms.

"Did I hear that right?" Lily Mae asked. "He offered to help?"

Bret just smiled and looked at Pappy. "Told ya."

Pappy wore a confused expression. "Who is that, and what have you done with your brother?"

XXXXXXXX

Bart looked around the room and laughed. This was the room that he and Bret had shared when they spent the night at Uncle Ben's house, the room they'd escaped from on many a moonlit night, the room they'd fled to after the incident with the pigs. It had seemed so big when they were small and now that he was 'big' seemed so small. He hung the few clothes he had – even that was a change from the old days, when everything he owned got thrown on the floor until he needed it. He hoped there was someplace in Little Bend with decent men's clothes. He was in dire need of something to replenish his gambler's wardrobe.

He sat down on the bed and pulled off his boots. It felt good to know that he could go to sleep without worrying about where his gun was and if someone he didn't know was coming through the door. He'd slept alright at Stanhope Ranch because he didn't remember the incidents with the door in Montana or Wyoming. Now he was in a Maverick house, and a stranger bursting in was the last thing on his mind.

He wasn't sleepy, he was closer to exhausted. Even on their first night back he knew the entire family would be going to play poker, and right now he could barely hold his head up. He still had the buckskin jacket Amy picked out for him in Mountain City. He threw that over the chair and lay down. How many nights had he and Bret snuck into Beau's room to play poker with just a candle to see by? He chuckled to himself and closed his eyes; he was asleep almost instantly.

 _He was bareback on Noble, and Amy was with him. She rode behind him and held on tightly, and her hands burned him where she held onto him. They were riding through a meadow, but there was someone up ahead, standing by the side of the road. It was Millie Ridgeway, and Bart paused to help her. He got off his horse and Amy took the reins and galloped off, leaving Bart to walk along the road with Millie. They stopped by a stream to get a drink of water and the next time Bart went to take her hand she was Carmenita. He started saying something to her in Spanish and found himself talking to Emily Mayhew. A wagon came rambling down the road and pulled up next to them; Samantha Crawford was driving. There was no longer anyone with him, and he climbed up in the wagon beside her._

 _They rode on for a few minutes and when he took the reins of the wagon, Samantha had been replaced by Rose Garrett. There was a horse and rider up ahead; when the wagon pulled alongside the rider was Caroline, and she was riding Noble with a saddle. He got down from the wagon and mounted the horse, content to ride behind his wife. When they came around the bend in the road they were back where he'd started, at the far side of the meadow, and it was just Bart and the horse. They rode on, peacefully, quietly, and he could see another woman up ahead. It was someone he didn't recognize, someone he hadn't met yet. As he got closer, it became harder to see, until everything around him was black and he heard the woman calling his name . . . . "Bart . . . . . Bart . . . . . Bart . . . . ."_

He woke slowly, and it took him minutes before he recognized Lily Mae's voice. "God forbid you ever have to wake up in a hurry, Bart Maverick. Your brother's gettin' ready to go into town for something or other, wants to know if you want to go with him. Says it's time to go spend some money so you don't look like a saddle tramp. You goin'?"

"Yeah, thanks, Lily Mae. Tell him I'm comin'." He sat up and started pulling on his boots before he remembered the dream. What in the world was that? Did it mean there was another woman in his immediate future? He hoped not, he needed a break from the female psyche for a while. He grabbed his jacket and his hat and ran for the door. If he knew Bret, he wanted to leave RIGHT NOW. He rushed down the steps and out through the front room, launching himself onto the seat of the wagon just as Bret yelled "Giddup!" and slapped the reins.

"In a hurry?" he asked his brother.

"I sent her up after you fifteen minutes ago," came the reply. "What were you all doin'?" Bret shook his head and laughed. "Never mind, I don't want to know."

"Shopping? You? There's no fancy tailor in Little Bend. Where we goin'?"

"Who said we were goin' to Little Bend?" It took a minute for Bart's head to clear.

"Austin? Isn't that a little far for shopping?"

"Nope," answered his brother. "We'll be there in no time." He slapped the horses reins again, urging them on. And Bart held on for dear life.


	4. Maude

Doralice

Chapter 3 – Maude

Austin was an eye opener. Not much more than a sleepy town before the war, now it was a bustling city, full of people hurrying everywhere. It reminded Bart of Carson City, yet they were as different as day and night.

There was a store here that both Pappy and Ben recommended, and that's where Bret headed. His clothes could use a refresher, too, but something had to be done about Bart's and done now. He had one decent coat and vest, bought in Mountain City, and since every Maverick could be considered a clotheshorse, that would never do. So they spent the better part of the afternoon and evening attempting to build a decent wardrobe for a professional gambler. By the time they finally left Bart was considerably lighter in the wallet and the wagon was considerably heavier.

"Well, that was an experience. I'd forgotten what a pain it was to dress well."

"Yep," Bret answered. "Can't look like we're poor, even if we are. You know how well Pappy and Uncle Ben always dress. They'd both be mortified if they saw the clothes you were out playin' poker in."

"That's when I was John Holliday," Bart reminded his brother.

"You were Bart Maverick all the way to Texas, and you dressed like a saddle tramp. Except for that jacket you've got on."

No sense telling Bret Amy had picked it out for him. It was a beautiful jacket, but it wasn't something to be worn out to play poker. Unless you'd just ridden into town.

The trip back to Little Bend was quiet, Bart thinking about the strange dream he'd had and Bret thinking about going into town to play poker tonight. By the time they got back to 'the Mansion', there was just enough time to clean up and get changed. Pappy and Ben were ready and waiting by the time Bret and Bart were clothed. Bret grabbed two biscuits left over from breakfast and Bart opted for a cup of almost cold coffee as dinner.

Pappy whistled when his boys got downstairs, finally ready to go make or lose a fortune. "You know, Ben, I had no idea they'd look so damn pretty once they grew up. Looks like Belle and I did somethin' right after all."

"Good thing they look like Belle and not you." Ben had teased Beauregard as long as Bret could remember. Beauregard's oldest son looked almost exactly like him. At least Bart could now enjoy the joke, knowing how much he favored his Aunt Jessie.

Pappy reached over and ran his fingers up and down the lapels of Bart's jacket, a smoky gray color. "Sure feels nice, son. Was it expensive?"

"Now Pappy, you're the one that taught us to dress. You know we don't buy anything cheap," Bart answered him. "Are we ready to go?"

Bret settled his newest black hat on his head. "I should hope so."

"Horses?" Pappy asked.

"Saddled," Bart answered.

"Let's ride," Bret offered, and that's just what they did.

XXXXXXXX

'Maude's' was, indeed, a real 'nice' place. Who knew that Little Bend, Texas could produce so many fine looking saloon girls. And every one of them knew Pappy and Uncle Ben.

Introductions were made all around, and none of the girls was willing to admit to believing that Beauregard was old enough to have two grown, much less such fine looking, sons. Of course it was easy to identify Bret as a Maverick – his resemblance to Pappy was always a topic of conversation. It was more difficult with Bart, since the relative he looked most like was not present. No matter, both men were welcomed as if they'd been playing at Maude's for years.

There were plenty of poker tables, and fresh blood was always welcome. The bartender quickly learned to always keep two coffee pots going, and the girls were well taken care of by the coffee drinking Maverick clan. The level of poker parlor may have been elevated with the addition of the new saloons, but the level of poker player wasn't. Most of the locals were average players at best, but the challenge of trying to best a Maverick at the game they were born to play is what kept everyone in the town interested. Tonight wasn't much different than the majority of nights in the past – mostly winning for the four related gamblers, mostly losing for everybody else. Around midnight Maude herself finally made an appearance, and she put the saloon girls to shame. It was almost impossible to ascertain her age – she could have been anywhere from twenty to forty. Honey blonde hair, gorgeous blue eyes, and a smile that dazzled everyone who saw her, she was tall and womanly, with curves in all the right places.

Everybody loved Maude, Beauregard and Bentley included. She had already spent time talking to both of the elder Mavericks before she worked her way over to Bret's table. Bart couldn't hear what she said to his brother but she managed to make Bret blush, and that wasn't an easy task. She finally whispered something in his ear and he laughed and pointed Bart out to her.

She worked her way across the room, talking and flirting with more than half of the men playing poker in her saloon. When she got to Bart's table she watched for a few minutes while the hand was played out, then introduced herself. "I'm Maude Donovan. I understand you're the fourth Maverick."

"It all depends on where you start counting," Bart told her, and she laughed, a deep, throaty, genuine laugh.

"I would imagine you wouldn't be happy with anything less than number one, Mr. Maverick. Am I right?"

"That's where I'd start, Miss Donovan."

"Mrs. Donovan," she corrected him, "although that gives the wrong impression. Mr. Donovan found a more heavenly place to cheat at cards many years ago. You're not a card sharp, are you, Mr. Maverick?"

"No, ma'am, I'm afraid I'm a boring old honest poker player. Not to change the subject, Mrs. Donovan, but you accomplished the near impossible – you made my brother blush. May I inquire what exactly you said to him?"

"Please, Mr. Maverick, call me Maude. Everyone does."

"Alright, Maude, I'm Bart. Now, regarding my brother – "

She threw her head back and laughed again. "Your brother. I just asked him which one of the Maverick boys was the more accomplished in bed – him or you. He graciously pointed me in your direction."

Bart tipped his hat to Maude Donovan. The woman didn't waste any time playing games. Without batting an eye he told her, "My brother deliberately misled you, Maude. He's far more successful with the ladies than I am. I don't mean to be rude, but I do have a game here. Maybe I can buy you a cup of coffee later and we can finish the discussion?"

She was impressed with him. He stayed calm and collected in the face of embarrassment. Maybe he was the solution to her problem. He certainly merited further consideration. "Alright, Bart, I'll be done around six. Will that work for you?"

He took half a second to consider Lily Mae's rule about sunup. "Yes, ma'am. Works just fine for me."


	5. The Job Interview

Doralice

Chapter 4 – The Job Interview

"I almost believed you when you told me Bart had changed. So much for trusting your children," Beauregard fumed as he, Ben and Bret rode back to the mansion. He'd been disgruntled with his youngest son since the moment Bart declined to go home with them, and he was taking his ire out on his oldest.

"Calm down, Pappy," Bret attempted to sooth the savage beast. "Bart knows what he's doing."

"Breakfast with Maude? Ben, does that sound like he knows what he's doing?"

"You gotta turn 'em loose sometime, Beau. I have faith in Bart. If he says he's having breakfast with her, he's just having breakfast with her."

"Breakfast. Hmmpf. I can just imagine. She'll chew him up and spit him out in little bitty pieces."

"Enough, Pappy. Give it a rest. Bart's got a good head on his shoulders. You don't know what he had to handle when he thought he was Doc Holliday. A lot a men woulda folded; not Bart." For the first time in years, Beau detected a tone of disrespect in Bret's remark, but he was a Maverick and he needed a graceful exit.

"Well, we'll see what he has to say for himself when he finally gets home."

"Yes, we will."

XXXXXXXX

Six o'clock came and went, and there was no sign of Maude. Bart excused himself from the poker game and went to the bar for one more cup of coffee, and waited patiently for the saloon owner to appear. For some reason she was testing him, and his curiosity was stronger than her examination. When she finally emerged from her office around seven-thirty he was sitting at a table playing Maverick solitaire. The saloon was virtually empty; all the girls had gone home and there was only one dead-drunk cowhand left, sleeping off the effects of a night on the town at a table in the rear.

She walked leisurely over to his table. He rose and tipped his hat. "Mrs. Donovan."

"Mr. Maverick. I wondered if you'd wait for me. I'm sorry to be late, I was tied up on business."

Several things went through Bart's mind, none of which had a thing to do with business. "Yes, ma'am, I understand. Those things happen. Are you ready for breakfast now?"

She smiled at him. He'd passed every trial she'd thrown at him thus far, why not proceed with the next step? "Certainly, Mr. – Bart. Sorry, I forgot."

"How's 'Mamie's'? Or did you have somewhere else in mind?"

Good, quick-witted. He seemed to have everything going for him. Smart, sharp (not at all the same thing), good-looking, patient, and an excellent poker face. She'd watched him long enough last night to spot any tell that the average player had; she couldn't find one.

"No, 'Mamie's' is fine. Let me get a wrap."

"I'll get it. Your office?"

Maude nodded, and he strode into her office and was inside but seconds before emerging with her wrap. Another point in his favor. He wasn't nosy. She smiled at him again as he placed the shawl around her shoulders, then offered his arm to escort her out the front door. "Back later, Harry," she called to her bartender, and it made Bart shiver to hear the name.

"Everything alright?" Maude inquired.

"Yeah, sorry. It was just the name. Had a friend named Harry, ran the saloon for us in Montana."

"And what happened to Harry?" Maude asked curiously, as they walked up the sidewalk towards 'Mamie's'.

"Killed by a drunk in the bar." There was just a touch of sadness in his answer, and Maude caught the subtlety.

"You own a saloon?"

"Part of one. In Montana. Run by my sister."

"There's a female Maverick?"

"Yes. In Silver Creek. Her name's Jody." There was pride in his voice. "Our little sister. She's a spitfire."

"I can imagine. So gambling really is the family business, eh?"

"Among other things, when necessary."

"Oh?" Maude asked. "What other things?"

"Whatever's required to get by when the cards aren't happy with us. Bodyguard, casino manager, Pharo dealer, trail boss, cowhand, anything else that seems to be available at the time."

"Ever been a lawman?"

That caused the first actual outburst of emotion she'd seen from him, as he laughed long and loud. "Mavericks and the law don't generally get along real well."

"Not even under the best of circumstances?"

"What are the best of circumstances?" he asked her as he opened the door for her at 'Mamie's'. "Is that where the sheriff asks you politely to 'please be on the next stage leavin' town' instead of clubbin' you over the head, emptyin' your wallet and throwin' you in jail prior to evictin' you?"

"Ah, I see you've met our sheriff."

"I grew up in this town, Maude. The sheriff and I are old acquaintances."

"Sounds like you've led a colorful life for a man so young." She sat in the chair he'd pulled out for her.

A chuckle from him this time. "Tell that to my body. It thinks I'm a hundred and five."

The cutest little waitress not working at 'Maude's' came over with coffee and filled their cups. "Jenny, this is Bart Maverick, Beau's youngest son. He just got back into town yesterday."

Jenny blushed slightly but said, "Happy to meet you, Mr. Maverick. Your father's a sweetheart. We haven't seen Beauregard for a while. Is he well?"

"Jenny, please, Bart. Pappy's right as rain. He's just had some – ah – rules imposed on him about his arrival time at home."

"Ah ha," Jenny answered. "Lily Mae's declared martial law, has she?"

Again, that laugh from Bart. "I see you know Lily Mae."

"Not as well as my mama does. I'm Mamie's daughter. Mama and Lily Mae grew up together."

"Then you've heard many a tale of 'the Maverick boys,' I'm assuming."

"Yes, sir, but I didn't believe most of them."

Suddenly Bart felt even older than he had just a few minutes ago. "Oh, they're all true, I assure you."

"Even the burning chicken?" Jenny asked incredulously, assuming that must surely be a story Lily Mae made up.

"Especially the burning chicken," Bart answered.

Jenny took their order and went back to the kitchen. "Sweet girl," Bart remarked.

"Beautiful girl," Maude answered. "If I didn't know her mother so well I'd try to get Jenny to come work for me."

Bart shook his head. "That'll never happen."

"No, but not because of the reasons you think."

"And just what do I think, Maude?"

She evaded answering him. "Why did you ask me to breakfast, Bart?"

He took a swallow of coffee and set the cup down carefully. "Curiosity."

"Curiosity?"

"You want something from me. I want to know what it is."

Add perceptive to the long list of positive attributes the man had. "What if I told you I didn't want anything from you but your time?"

"What is it that you want to do with my time, Maude?"

She laughed that 'Maude' laugh again. "You don't waste time, do you?"

"Funny, I thought the same thing about you."

"I have a job to offer you."

"What kind of a job?"

Just then Jenny came back to the table with their food and the coffee pot. Maude took a look at Bart's plate and asked, "Is that all you're eating?"

Bart glanced down. Two eggs, a lone piece of bacon, and some toast. "Yep, my brother's the big eater in the family. I have different – appetites." Before Jenny left she had to fill his cup again.

That was an intriguing answer she'd have to explore later. "Let's enjoy our breakfast. We can discuss the job later."

The fork was halfway to his mouth when he stopped it. "I look forward to it."


	6. Ruffles and Black Hats

Doralice

Chapter 5 – Ruffles and Black Hats

There was someone pounding on his door, of that he was certain. Then the voice gave away who it was. "Bart Maverick, get out of that bed. You know my rule and you violated it your first night home!"

He staggered to the door, still in his clothes, which is the way he'd gone to sleep this morning. "Lily Mae, settle down. There were extenuating circumstances." He pulled the door open and looked at an outraged housekeeper.

"WHAT extenuating circumstances?"

"I was in the middle of a job interview."

The housekeeper stood there, hands on hips, and glared at him. "A what?"

"A job interview."

"What kind of a job? With whom? At that time of the night? What do you take me for?"

"I take you for my own personal wake-up call. Thank you, darlin'." Bart grabbed Lily Mae and kissed her on the left cheek, then the right cheek, then turned loose of her. She walked away from him and went back downstairs, defeated and muttering to herself.

"Job interview . . . . . I'm an idiot . . . . . in the middle of the night!. . . . thinks I was born yesterday . . ."

He hurried to change clothes, then rushed downstairs to no doubt face the wrath of his father and uncle for breaking Lily Mae's rules.

The first person he ran into was Bret, who gave him fair warning. "Pappy was fit to be tied when he found out you were havin' breakfast with Maude. I don't know whether he's mad or jealous. Just be careful."

He slapped his brother on the arm. "Thanks, Brother Bret. I'll be on my best behavior."

"Lily Mae was muttering something about a job. Is she serious?"

"Come with me. I'll explain everything at once."

Bart, with Bret trailing behind him, went looking for his father and uncle. They were sitting at the table in what passed as Lily Mae's kitchen, playing five card stud. 'Practice' they both called it because neither one of then considered stud as actual poker. Bart grabbed the coffee pot and poured a cup, holding it up for Bret to see. Bret nodded 'yes' and Bart set the cup on the table in front of his brother. He poured another for himself and sat down at the table. His father finally said, without looking up, "What fascinating thing did Maude have to say at breakfast?"

"Oh, nothin' much. She has a job she wants me to do for her."

"A job? What kind of a job?" Beauregard sounded skeptical, to say the least.

"Don't know yet." Bart took a swallow of coffee, waiting for the criticism to begin.

"What kind of an answer is that? Either she offered you a job or she didn't. Which is it?"

"She didn't offer it to me yet. We're in the discussion stage." Bart looked over at his brother as if pleading for help.

Bret stepped in, as he had for most of their lives. "She tell you what she needs to have done?"

"Not yet. We're gettin' around to it."

Pappy wasn't through. "And when are you goin' to be gettin' around to it again?"

"This evenin'. I'm escorting her to dinner at the Cattleman's Club."

"Isn't that a little rich for your blood?" Uncle Ben asked.

"Nope."

"Are you sure? You're not wealthy, ya know." Another crack from Pappy.

Bart sighed. Pappy was off and running, with nothing but criticism for his youngest son. :"I can afford it."

"Hmmpf." That's what Pappy did when he could think of nothing else. "Wish I was independently wealthy."

Bret watched his brother from across the table. It was usually at this point that Bart would either throw something and yell or storm off from the table, totally out of control. He'd always wondered why Pappy seemed to push Bart's buttons until another fight ensued. To his surprise, Bart did neither. He simply said, "So do I, Pappy," and let it go. Instead, he turned to his brother. "What'd she say to you last night, Brother Bret?"

Bret blushed again, just like he had last night, but said nothing.

"That's what she told me, and I didn't know whether to believe her or not. I guess she was tellin' me the truth."

"What did Maude ask you, son?" Pappy questioned his oldest.

Bret turned his eyes to Bart, pleading for help. Bart finally answered his father. "She asked Bret which one of us was youngest," Bart volunteered.

"Is that all?" Pappy asked.

"Yep," Bret answered, and silently mouthed 'Thanks' to his brother.

Bart finished his coffee and got up from the table. "Anything else to grill me about before I go get changed?"

Pappy said nothing, Ben quietly added "See you later."

Bart nodded and headed back upstairs, Bret following him. When they got to Bret's room Bart ducked inside with his brother and closed the door behind them. "Okay, what did she really ask you?"

Bret sat down on his bed. "What did Maude tell you she asked?"

Bart didn't hesitate. "Which one of us was better in bed."

Bret blushed again but nodded ascent. "Yep, that's what she asked."

"Did she say why?"

The older Maverick brother looked startled. "I didn't question why she wanted to know."

"Well, it's not the obvious," Bart speculated. "She's been testin' me all along, Bret. Whatever this job is she's got, she's bein' real cagey about it. She wanted to know what I'd done besides play cards, if I was a snoop, if I could be patient, all sorts of things. I guess I've passed all her tests so far because we made this appointment for dinner tonight."

"What kind of a job does she have, did she say?"

A shake of the head. "Nope. Just gotta wait and see."

"Why are you interested?" Bret questioned. "It's a job. We don't do 'jobs'."

"I didn't say I was interested. I'm curious. What could she have to be done that isn't saloon business?"

"I don't know, Brother Bart, but be careful. Somethin's not right here."

"Yeah, my thoughts exactly. I'm gonna find out." He started out the door and then stopped. "By the way, 'Mamie's' is owned by a woman that grew up with Lily Mae. Got a pretty young daughter named Jenny that works for her."

"How pretty?" came the immediate question.

"Sweet young thing. Emphasis on YOUNG." He thought about their friend Doc Holliday and the Mexican whore that Doc was enamored of. "Doc Holliday young."

"Oh," was the disappointed reply.

"Plenty of good-lookin' ladies at 'Maude's.' Nothin' interesting?"

Bret shook his head. "The best lookin' lady in that place is Maude. And there's somethin' that's just not right there."

"Yeah, I know," Bart offered. "I got the same feelin'. Well, I gotta go. I'll see you later at 'Maude's'?"

"Yep," Bret agreed. "Sure not goin' to 'Horseshoe' and smell cattle all night. And ya know what the 'LB Bar's' like. We grew up there."

"Yeah. Pass," and Bart was out the door.

"Be careful, Brother Bart," Bret beseeched, quietly.

XXXXXXXX

Bart dressed carefully; something told him tonight was important. The new black coat with a black and silver vest and a dressier ruffled shirt rather than the pin-tucked one he typically favored. And a change for him – Bret's black almost-trademark hat. Bart opted to leave his Colt at the house but wore the shoulder holster with the Remington. As he stepped out of his room, Bret watched him walk down the hall and whistled at him.

"Very funny, Brother Bret, very funny."

"I was just admirin' the hat. Quite a change for you, mister 'I don't like black hats'."

"Yeah, well, everything changes, doesn't it?"

His older brother offered a last piece of advice, "Watch your back."

"You can watch it for me when I get to 'Maude's' to play poker." He started to walk past his brother, then turned back at the last moment. "Seriously – I'll be careful. Satisfied?"

"Not until I see you walk in the saloon."

"Just what I needed, another Pappy." Bart went down the stairs and ran into the real thing. "Uncle Ben still in the kitchen?"

"No, he's decided he can't go out tonight without a bath. Why in God's name I don't know." Beauregard looked Bart up and down. "You got awful dressed up, didn't you? That impressed with Maude, were you?"

"Pappy, do I hear a little bit a jealousy in there?"

"Watch your tongue, boy. I've no reason to be jealous of you."

"Yes, sir." Bart couldn't resist getting a little dig in. "I'll remember that when I kiss her goodnight."

Pappy snorted. "In your dreams, Bartley."

"Mine and who else's?" and Bart scooted out of the way as Pappy slapped at him playfully.

"You takin' the buggy?" was Beauregard's last question to his youngest.

"Yeah, I can't see Maude riding on horseback."

"Nor can I," added Ben, finished with his grooming and dressing. "We'll see you later, eh?"

"Count on it." And before Pappy or Ben could give him any more grief, Bart was gone to hitch up the horses. His curiosity was killing him – just what did Maude want him to do for her? And if it was something he was willing to do, how much was she willing to pay? The faster he got to town, the sooner he'd find out.


	7. Doralice Donovan Medina

Doralice

Chapter 6 – Doralice Donovan Medina

They made a handsome couple, even if it was just business at this point. Maude, dressed in something black and glittery, would have looked good on anyone's arm, but with Bart she sparkled like a diamond. And every female head in the place turned and admired the incredibly handsome man that the youngest Maverick had become. They were seated at a table of prominence, put on display for all to see. Maude might have been used to the adulation, but Bart certainly wasn't. Another of Maude's little tests to see how he'd respond to being stared at and whispered about?

Bart simply ignored the attention and went about his business. Maude was appropriately impressed, nothing seemed to rattle him. She knew she'd found the perfect man for the job and would make the offer tonight.

Bart ordered wine and dinner. It amused him that Maude ate steak the same way he did – well done. When he mentioned it to her she smiled and remarked, "I want my men alive, not my food."

They drank in silence for a minute or two before Maude spoke again. When she did, there was a tone of respect in her voice. "You must have an Achilles heel somewhere, Bart, everyone does. But I can't seem to find yours. What am I missing?"

"I have my share of weaknesses, Maude. But I've learned to hide them from most people. Just like that tell you looked for last night and couldn't spot. Sometimes your life depends on it."

"I've searched for just the right man to do a job for me, and I didn't think there was one in this town. Until you showed up at 'Maude's' last night. Even then I wasn't sure. That's the purpose of all the scrutiny. This can only be attempted once, and if it doesn't work I'll never see my daughter again. Interested?"

"I need more details before I can give you an answer." He took a sip of wine and set the glass back on the table. "Are you willing to provide them before I commit?"

"That's a reasonable request. Let's have dinner and we can go back to my office and discuss details."

XXXXXXXX

"We need to talk, Pappy."

Bret finally had a few minutes alone with his father, and he was determined to get to the undercurrent of hostility that seemed to flow through the relationship between the two most important people in his life.

"Oh dear, what have I done now?" It was a serious question with a tone of amusement to it.

"Bart."

"What about Bart?"

"Sometimes it sounds like you don't like him much."

The answer that came back was too quick. "That's ridiculous. I love your brother."

Bret looked at his father skeptically. "I know you love him, pappy. He knows it, too. I'm talking about liking him."

Beauregard said nothing. He knew exactly what Bret was talking about. "You imagine things."

A shake of the head. "No, I don't. I've seen it my whole life. I'd do something stupid and you'd laugh it off. Bart would do something equally as dumb and at the least he'd get a tongue lashing from you. Why? I was certainly no angel, and Bart didn't do anywhere near some of the things I did."

"Water under the bridge. I don't do that anymore."

"Yes, you do, Pappy. You've done it in the two days we've been home. I've heard it. Bart's heard it too, he just doesn't react the way he used to. It's like you give me all the slack in the world and there's none left for Bart. Where does that come from?"

Pappy looked around as if searching for an escape route. Seeing none, he decided it was time to tell his oldest son the truth. "Sit down, Bret. There's a lot I've never explained to you."

They were in the main room of the house, so Bret sat in one of the chairs by the fireplace. Beauregard sat next to him and lit a cigar before starting in on his tale.

"Your mother didn't have an easy time before you were born. She lost a baby, a girl. The doctor advised us to give up on having a family, but your mother was determined. Then you were born. We were thrilled. When she found out she was gonna have your brother, she got real sick and almost lost him. After he was born, we knew there wouldn't be anymore. He was in poor health all the time. And then I lost your momma, and I was alone tryin' to raise the two of you. You were easy goin' and responsible, always ready to help. Bartley was the sweetest child anyone'd ever seen, but he was headstrong and stubborn, and wild at times. You were just like your mother; Bart was like me."

Pappy took a draw on the cigar. Bret was hearing things that Pappy never told him before and hung on every word. "Don't look at me that way. You might've resembled me, but you have your mother's disposition. Bart – I didn't want him to do some of the things I'd done. So I was always extra hard on him. Just so he wouldn't turn out like his old pappy. I guess I still do it, even though I don't need to. He's proved to be a better man than I could ever hope to be. I just thank God every day he hasn't gone through some of the things I went through."

Bret gave a sarcastic little chuckle. "You don't know what he's been through, Pappy. He's a good man, and he'd give his life to protect any of us. He almost has, more than once. It would mean a lot to both of us if you could cut him a little slack now."

"Just when I think I don't have to worry about him anymore – he goes and gets involved with Maude. What's that all about?"

"He didn't go after her, Pappy. She came after him. And if there's a job involved – maybe it's somethin' legitimate."

"I hope so. There's somethin' about that woman – but that's irrelevant. You're right, he deserves credit for the way he's changed. And I haven't been willin' to give it to him – always watchin' and waitin' for him to take the wrong step. I'll give it my best shot, that's all I can promise, son."

Bret nodded, satisfied that his father was aware of how unfair he'd been to his youngest son. "That's good enough, pappy. I'm sure Bart'll appreciate it."

XXXXXXXX

Dinner over, Bart had escorted Maude back to her namesake saloon, and they'd gone straight to her office. It was . . . . . interesting.

There was a large desk on the far wall and a portrait of Maude hung over it. At least it looked like a portrait of Maude until you got up close and realized it was a smaller, younger version of her. And the eyes were an almost aqua color, rather than blue. Whoever it was, she was definitely related to the saloon owner.

The other walls were adorned with photos of Maude in one costume or another; some were recent and some obviously from an earlier time. One or two had a good-looking man in them, presumed to be Mr. Donovan, and there were several of Maude and a little girl. If it weren't for the photos and the portrait, you would never know the office belonged to a woman. It was all dark, polished wood, heavy and masculine in appearance. There was an elegant humidor on one corner of the desk, and Maude flipped the lid open and offered Bart a cigar, which he willingly accepted.

"Have a seat, Mr. Maverick." Maude indicated the chairs in front of the desk. Big, solid looking chairs, overstuffed and dark red in color.

"We're back to that, are we? Alright, Mrs. Donovan, let's talk business."

"I want it clearly understood – this is business, Mr. Maverick. Anything personal that may or may not exist between us has no bearing on this transaction at all. Agreed?"

"You're making the rules, Mrs. Donovan."

"You wanted details, that's what I'm about to give you. This portrait behind the desk is my daughter, Doralice. She was all of sixteen when that was painted. She's twenty-four now. She's the only child I have, and she means everything in the world to me.

"When she was eighteen she ran away with Sergio Medina, of the Monterrey Medina's, across the border into Mexico. They were married in a little town called San Felipe. According to her, the first few years of the marriage were happy, and then Sergio started gambling and drinking and whoring. She begged him to stop, and he did for a while. But he started up again, and he added beating his wife to the list of wrongdoing. She stood it as long as she could, and then she left him. One night he snuck into her rooms, dead drunk, and insisted that if she didn't perform her marital duties he would beat her to death. He'd begun to do just that when she got away from him and pulled out the derringer that she kept under her pillow. She shot him, twice. His family pressured the Federales into arresting her and charging her with murder.

"They put her on trial, wouldn't let her call any witnesses, and wouldn't let her testify. She was found guilty and sentenced to hang. Only a very persuasive lawyer and a lot of money paid to various Mexican officials have kept her alive this long. Right now she sits in a jail in Reynosa, and I'm running out of money and hope. My attorney's tried every legal maneuver available to him and nothing's worked. The only thing he's been able to accomplish is to get the Federales to agree to turn her over to the Texas State Police, on the pretense that she murdered someone in Texas and is already sentenced to hang here. They'd rather the United States put her to death; it would cause less controversy.

"I have access to Texas State Police identification. I need someone who can stay cool and collected in the face of the Federales, and can improvise if something goes wrong. Somebody who knows when to speak and when to keep his mouth shut. I've come to the conclusion that you're that man, Mr. Maverick.

"If you can bring my daughter back to Texas, alive and unhurt, I'm willing to pay you ten thousand dollars. Is that enough detail for you?"


	8. A Hell of an Offer

Doralice

Chapter 7 – A Hell of an Offer

"Is that enough detail for you?"

Bart sat and smoked for almost five minutes while he considered the proposition. Maude had spun quite a tale for him, with all of his favorite things involved. Mexico, Federales, posing as a lawman, breaking so many laws he couldn't even count them, circumventing one of the most powerful families in Mexico. And the most important pieces – a beautiful young woman unfairly convicted and sentenced to hang, and ten thousand dollars.

Still, it was a big risk. One he found himself unwilling to take, despite the potential payday. After the fiasco in Santa Pietro, he wasn't inclined to go back and hassle with the Federales again. Finally he made his decision.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Donovan, but I have to decline your offer of employment. I have absolutely no desire to tangle with the Federales again, now or at any time in the future. I've seen enough of them to last a lifetime."

"They're gonna hang her, Bart!" Maude had dropped the 'business' façade and was simply a mother pleading for her child's life.

He felt bad for her but had no great burning desire to get involved. "I don't think I'm the right person for the job, Maude. You need somebody that's handy with a gun, to be ready when the whole thing falls apart. And it WILL fall apart. I'm not the one you need."

"Twelve thousand five hundred dollars."

Bart whistled. "That's a lot of money, Maude, but I'm still not interested."

"Fifteen thousand dollars, Bart. That's all the cash I have left."

That offer made him pause. Fifteen thousand dollars would buy a lot of new clothes and fine dinners. He'd been within reaching difference of that much and more in Cheyenne, and it had all turned to nothing. In the end it didn't matter. He'd wanted to come home to rethink his life and make sure he was doing what he wanted to do with it, not take a job that had all kinds of warning flags attached. "No thanks, Maude."

She swallowed hard and tried one more time. "Fifteen thousand dollars and me."

He sat there and watched her; she was on the verge of tears. She was completely serious, willing to offer herself as the final bonus on an already outrageous payment. He closed his eyes and debated with himself. Fifteen thousand dollars and Maude. Wouldn't that set Pappy's heart to racing? And he was tempted. Sorely tempted. He opened his eyes and took a good look at the woman in front of him. Beautiful and experienced and willing, with no strings attached.

"Sorry, Maude, I just can't." Before she could find one more thing to offer him he got up from the chair, put his hat on his head and tipped it to her. "I'm not the right man for the job." He walked across the office and out the door, closing it behind him.

The tears spilled over and ran down her face. "Oh yes you are, Mr. Maverick, and you WILL bring my daughter back to me."

XXXXXXXX

Bret had just laid down the winning hand in the game he was playing when Bart came out of Maude's office, a cigar in his mouth and a confused expression on his face. His brother walked all the way through the saloon and out the batwing doors, and Bret excused himself from the table and followed. He didn't know if Pappy or Uncle Ben had seen the departure but he had, and he knew there was something troubling Bart.

He was outside, foot up on the watering trough in front of the saloon, smoking the cigar, troubled look having replaced the confused one. Bret pulled out his own cigar and lit it, joining his brother in a smoke."Wanna talk about it?"

Bart shook his head 'no' and kept smoking. Bret waited, knowing that Bart would open up to him eventually. Sure enough, a few minutes later, he did.

"I may have just turned down the offer of a lifetime," Bart started. "What would you have done?" Bart related the story to Bret as well as he could, stopping before the original offer was made.

"Bad situation," the older brother offered. "What was she willing to pay?"

"The first offer was ten thousand dollars."

"The first offer?"

"Yeah, that wasn't the last one."

"You turned her down?"

"Four times." Bart let his brother chew on that and anticipated Bret's next question.

"What was the final offer?"

"Fifteen thousand dollars – " Bart waited, and let that sink in, " – and Maude."

"That's a hell of an offer."

Bart nodded, agreeing completely. "Yes it is."

"Having second thoughts?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"And third, and fourth, and fifth. But what's got you so twisted around?"

"You mean it shows?"

Bret was quick to answer. "No, but I know you. Is it the girl?"

"Yeah, it is." Bart was relieved it was his brother standing next to him. Bret understood what he'd been through in Montana, falsely convicted of a crime and sentenced to hang. "I know how that feels, Bret, and how easy it is to give up. What happens when Maude runs outta money? They'll hang her, sure as they'd a hung me if I didn't have you and Beau. She hasn't got a brother to save her."

"You're not her brother, Bart."

Silence for long minutes, as the two men stood side by side in the darkness. At long last the younger of the two spoke. "Go with me? We can split the money."

"What about Maude?"

Bart laughed a little. "No offense meant, Brother Bret, but aren't widows more up your alley?"

Bret laughed with his brother. "No more, Brother Bart. Sorry, I'm not goin' back to Mexico. And if you're smart you won't either."

"Yeah, I know you're right. That's why I kept sayin' no." Bart threw what was left of his cigar into the street. "I'm goin' home. I'm worn out. Tell Pappy and Ben – tell 'em whatever you want. G'night, Bret."

His brother got in the buggy and headed out, back towards the ranch. Bret watched him go and a chill went up his spine. Something told him this wasn't over.


	9. We All Have Our Doubts

Doralice

Chapter 8 – We All Have Our Doubts "She wanted him to do what?" Pappy was both surprised and concerned to hear from Bret just what Maude's job offer had been. "She's got a daughter that old? Who knew?"

"Bart turned her down, didn't he?" Ben asked, concerned but not surprised.

Bret nodded, forgetting for a moment that it was just beginning to get light out and it was difficult at best for his riding companions to see. "Yeah, Uncle Ben, he turned her down."

"That's an awful lot of money," was Pappy's next remark.

"To say nothing of Maude herself," was Bret's response. "Still – "

"Too dangerous," from Ben.

"Much too dangerous," added Pappy.

They rode on for a minute in silence. "He considered it."

Pappy's response was quick. "No doubt."

"Who wouldn't?"

Now it made more sense to Beauregard. "That's why he looked so . . . . . . upset when he left Maude's office."

Bret's answer was one word, "Yes."

Silence again, this time longer than before. "What about the both of you going?" Pappy and Ben were both thinking it; Ben was the one who asked the question.

Bret should have known someone would make the 'suggestion.' "Bart considered that. I told him no."

"Why, son?"

"Been down in Mexico before, Pappy. Don't wanna go back. Too many things can go wrong down there."

"But if both of you are there – "

"NO."

"He wasn't willing to split the money, huh?" His father's next question.

"Yes, he was. He was even willing to cede Maude to me. The answer was still no."

"Seventy-five hundred dollars AND Maude Donovan?"

"Seventy-five hundred dollars AND Maude Donovan. She's not a piece of meat, you know."

"Still – "

Bret was not happy with either his father or his uncle at the moment. "NO. NO. NO. How many more times do you want to hear it?" He'd had enough for one night and nudged his horse on. The brothers exchanged glances as if to say "What did we do?"

"If he doesn't wanna go, he doesn't wanna go. That should be the end of it."

Pappy finally conceded the point. "It will be as long as Bart doesn't reconsider."

XXXXXXXX

He'd driven the buggy home slowly. Bret's words kept ringing in his ears: "You're not her brother, Bart." He knew Bret was right, but if everything Maude told him was true there was no one else to help her. Which meant she would die, unfairly, just like he was supposed to. What if there'd been no Bret to help him? No Beau?

He'd be dead right now. There was no question about that. Could he let an innocent woman swing at the end of a rope? That's the dilemma he found himself in. What was stopping him from taking the job? Was he afraid to go back to Mexico?

That was the question he kept coming back to as he drove home. The last time across the border had not been pleasant. The physical labor, the drop down the well by the earthquake, dealing with the emotional trauma of remembering his love for Millie Ridgeway and knowing it was too late to change things. It was unpleasant, to say the least, but it was nothing to be afraid of. If it wasn't fear, what was it that stopped him? Was there anything that would change his mind?

When he next paid attention, he realized he was home. It wasn't quite four o'clock in the morning, but a light was on in the kitchen. No wonder Lily Mae went to bed at sundown. He unhitched the horse and walked him to the paddock, where Bart turned him loose to run free. Noble whinnied a greeting and he spent a few minutes with the animal before going in the house.

Lily Mae already had a pot of coffee going and she poured Bart a cup as he came through the door. "Thanks, Lily Mae. I can use one of these right about now."

"Tough night at the tables, Mr. B?" She'd called him Mr. B since the first time she'd ever seen him, not quite two years old and already a charmer. He'd walked up to her and solemnly extended his hand, offering a "How'd ya do, Miss Lily?"

"Nope, Lily Mae. Didn't even gamble."

"Job offer no good?"

"That's just it, Lily Mae, it was a good offer. Maybe even a great offer. But it's complicated."

"Most things usually are, Mr. B." She poured herself coffee and sat down at the table with him. "Turn it down or accept it?"

"Turned it down," he replied.

"Why?"

"That's what I keep asking myself. A year ago I'd have jumped at it."

"But not now?"

"I'm worn out, Lily." She refilled his cup and he gave her a truncated version of the last two years of his life. When he was finished she shook her head.

"You did the right thing, sayin' no. You need some time with nothin' more exciting than gettin' up every day."

He reached over and patted her hand. "Thanks. But you haven't heard the job."

"Don't need to. You need rest and food, and some time free from worryin' about everything. Job's not gonna give you that, is it?"

He shook his head tiredly. "No, it's not. But if I don't take it, a young woman is gonna be hung for nothin' more than defending herself from a husband tryin' to kill her. That's not right."

"Who's the woman?"

"Maude Donovan's daughter."

"Didn't know she had one." There was a slight note of disdain in Lily Mae's voice.

"Yep. Ran away to Mexico and got married, into the Medina family."

"Even I've heard of the Medina's. And she killed him, did she?" The disdain had been replaced by sympathy.

"Yep, in self-defense, but his family didn't see it that way. Money can sway many a court."

"What did her mama want you to do?"

Bart laughed, a sad and hollow sound. "Go down and get her out."

Lily Mae's eyebrows shot up. "Legally?"

Bart didn't answer, just sat and looked at his life-long mother-figure.

"I guess that was a silly question, wasn't it?" Lily Mae asked.

"Yes ma'am, and you know better. When has anybody ever asked a Maverick to do something that was perfectly legal?"

"Well, there was that time – " Lily Mae started, and then stopped and laughed. "No, I guess there wasn't." Change of direction again. "It's still botherin' you, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am. A lot."

Lily Mae drained her coffee cup. Bart had finished his earlier, and she went to refill both before he stopped her. "I've had enough, thank you."

Now she understood how much it was bothering him. That was the first time she could remember Bart ever turning down coffee. "What are you gonna do about it?" she asked.

A guilty look made its way across his face, but he answered, "Nothing."

"Gonna let her hang?"

Bart abruptly got up from the table and headed towards the stairs. "Right now I'm goin' to bed."


	10. Cristian and the Lions

Doralice

Chapter 9 – Cristian and the Lions

It was close to noon when Bart finally gave up trying to sleep and got out of bed. Last night had been a travesty – every time he closed his eyes he either saw Doralice Medina or himself standing on the gallows, a noose around their neck. No matter how many times he tried to go back to sleep, the image was always there.

He got dressed and busied himself with little tasks – checking to make sure he had clean shirts, getting the dirt off his boots, reading a chapter or two in his latest book, finally drifting down to the kitchen to see what there was to eat. Lily Mae was working on lunch but it wasn't done yet, so he wandered outside to visit Noble. The gelding seemed pleased to see him; Bart grabbed a bridle and slipped it over Noble's ears. "Come on, old man, we need to do some riding." A saddle was added, not Noble's favorite thing, and Bart mounted and headed down to the stream where he and Bret and Beau used to fish as kids.

The little cove was still there and untouched, the place where he'd kissed his first girl. Her name was Sally Jo Ross, and he was all of thirteen. She slapped him afterwards, and he kissed her again. She didn't slap him the second time.

They passed the spot where Bret had almost drowned after their homemade raft overturned. Thank God he was a strong swimmer; it was springtime and the creek was overflowing; a few more minutes and he would have been swept out into the river and lost forever. Come to think of it, they'd had so many close calls when they were younger that all the injuries and questionable situations they got into shouldn't surprise them now. Noble picked his way along the bank of the creek and Bart let him walk where he wanted. When they'd been gone almost an hour the gambler turned back toward the ranch and rode the long way round.

So many spots held memories, most of them good. Except for the broken bones and cuts and bruises the three boys grew up happy and relatively unscathed. The most enjoyable times they'd spent were playing poker with Pappy and Uncle Ben, learning skills that would serve them the rest of their lives. So many afternoons the five Mavericks could be found around one table or another, playing five card draw until the boys were so tired they couldn't keep their eyes open. Then off to bed they went while Beauregard and Bentley made their way to town to ply their trade.

Before he knew it, Bart was back at the paddock; he removed Noble's tack and turned him loose. The horse shook his head and whinnied, then galloped across the dirt to join two or three other animals. Bart headed for the house and Bret came out to meet him. "Don't go in there," he warned his brother.

"Why? Who's mad at me now, and for what?"

"Nobody's mad at you. Lily Mae is arguing with Uncle Ben and Pappy. She wants them to leave you alone so you can rest. They want her to keep her opinions to herself. I put my money on Lily Mae. She's got your back, Bart."

"And what about you?" Bart asked his brother. "Where do you stand?"

"I stand wherever you want me to, son. It was your decision and you made it. Over and done with."

"I might as well go face it. I'm hungry and that's where the food is."

Bret wrapped an arm around his brothers' shoulders. "Then I'll go in with ya."

XXXXXXXX

The man sat in Maude's office, as prim and proper as could be. Not a hair out of place, not a crumb anywhere it wasn't supposed to be. He was almost too perfect to be true, unlike the news he brought with him this day. "There's nothing I can do to delay it any further, Maude. The money you gave me for 'gifts' is all gone. The date's been set – two weeks from tomorrow. I don't see what more I can do."

"They're determined to hang Doralice, aren't they Cristian? Are they still willing to honor the Texas extradition?"

"For right now, Maude, but who knows how long that will last? The governor could decide to rescind the order at any moment. If you've found somebody to go, you'd better send them immediately. I can't guarantee what happens when the wind changes and the Medina's push for the execution. I'm shocked that she's still in Reynosa. Normally they'd move her to Monterrey for the hanging."

"I've found the right man for the job, but he's reluctant to go. I need a little more time to convince him."

The attorney shifted his body in the chair and shook his head. "You don't have any more time, Maude. If this ruse is going to work it has to happen now. How did you find a gunfighter in this little cow town?"

"I never said it was a gunfighter, did I Cristian? No, this man has skills that I'd be hard pressed to find in a man handy only with a gun. There's no doubt in my mind he can pull off the subterfuge necessary to make this escape happen. He just needs some persuasion."

"Then you'd better do whatever is necessary to persuade him, before it's too late."

Maude looked at her attorney and an idea began to form in her mind. Where there's a will -

"If I can get him to leave tomorrow - do you think there's enough time?"

"Probably. But no later than that, or you risk having to send him to Monterrey. Who is this man, anyway?" Cristian de la Torres, Maude Donovan's attorney, was curious just who his client was attempting to procure.

"His name's Bart Maverick. He's a gambler."

"A gambler? Maude, have you lost your mind? You're willing to put your daughter's life into the hands of a gambler?"

"You'd be as sure as I am that he's the right man if you knew him, Cristian. Why don't you be here tonight around nine? You should meet him, anyway, but he doesn't need to know who you are, or why you're here. I'll introduce you as an old friend of the family."

The attorney shook his head again. "Alright, Maude, but I'm still not sure how you're going to pull this off. What if you can't convince him to do the job?"

The saloon owner and mother had no doubts that her quest would be successful. Not with what she had in mind. "That won't be a problem, Cristian. I have a fool-proof argument all ready for him."

XXXXXXXX

As soon as the brothers walked into the kitchen, the cacophony stopped. Pappy and Uncle Ben both went back to eating their lunch, and Lily Mae got up from the table and readied bowls of beef stew for 'her boys.' Bart grabbed the coffee pot and poured a cup for he and his brother, then filled Pappy's and Uncle Ben's cups before returning the pot. "Thank you, son," came from his father, and his uncle nodded in acknowledgement.

"Don't let us stop you from whatever you were arguing about," Bart remarked. "Sounded like a hell of a disagreement."

Pappy and Ben both shook their heads, and Beauregard said, "No, no, no disagreement. Just a difference of opinion."

Lily Mae snorted, which turned into a laugh the boys knew well. "Sure as there's a God above, he'll get you for lyin' like that, Beauregard Maverick. Now you tell your sons what the argument was about."

That was too much for one man to get away with, even Pappy, and he turned bright red. "Stop it, Mrs. Conners," he insisted, using her married name so everyone would understand the importance of the 'difference of opinion.'

"So do we get to guess?" persisted the youngest Maverick. "Let's see, did it have something to do with Maude Donovan and a job?"

Pappy shot Lily Mae a look that said everything, and then cleared his throat. "Yes, as a matter of fact, it did."

Silence ensued, and finally Bart nudged, gently. "Well?"

"You uncle and I think maybe you should reconsider, Bartley. Fifteen thousand dollars is a lot of money to pass up just because you don't want to ride into Mexico."

"To say nothing of Maude Donovan," his uncle added as an afterthought.

Bart turned to his brother, a smile on his face. "You were absolutely right, Brother Bret."

His brother smiled back. "See, I told ya." He turned to the housekeeper. "Lily Mae, you have a different opinion?"

"You know I do, Bret Maverick."

"And that would be?" Bart asked.

"That nobody should take a job they don't want just for the money. Especially with what you went through in the last year, Mr. B. And Mr. Beau's on the way home, and he's gonna need you here."

The table fell silent. Two valid points, two different points-of-view.

Finally the subject of their 'difference of opinions' spoke. "So glad that everyone has their own take on the job. Last time I checked mine was the only one that counted." Having said what he had to say, Bart picked up his coffee cup and walked out into the main room.

He'd made up his mind, and nothing anyone in that room could say was going to change it. He was going in to Little Bend tonight and tell Maude Donovan that he'd take the job.


	11. The Best Offer

Doralice

Chapter 10 – The Best Offer

" _It would have been a whole lot easier if you'd just agreed to take the job, Mr. Maverick."_

 _Bart nodded in agreement with Maude Donovan, who was currently holding all the cards. Not literally, of course, but the gun aimed at a bound and gagged Bret Maverick was a powerful persuader. "Now that you have my attention, Mrs. Donovan, just exactly where is your daughter?"_

" _Like I tried to explain before, Mr. Maverick, she's in a Mexican jail in Reynosa. Right across the border. It's simple. All you have to do is get her out and bring her home."_

' _Nothing's ever simple,' he thought. "And if I don't, Mrs. Donovan?"_

 _Maude pulled back the hammer and fired, almost hitting Bret. "Next time I don't miss."_

 _Bart tipped his hat. "Yes, ma'am, I believe we understand each other. You will take good care of him while I'm gone?"_

 _Maude Donovan laughed wickedly. "Oh, I intend to, Mr. Maverick. I certainly intend to."_

Bart woke in a cold sweat and tried to understand why he'd have such a dream when he'd already changed his mind about working for Maude Donovan. He really wanted to sleep longer, but he didn't want the dream to come back again, the way they sometimes seemed to. Instead he got up and shaved, then got dressed for poker. He fully intended to play tonight; last night he'd been in no mood to do so after disappointing Mrs. Donovan several times. When he was ready he went to the barn and saddled Noble – he wanted to go to town and get everything settled before the rest of his family arrived.

Bret walked down to Bart's room and found the door open and his brother gone. What was this about? Had Bart changed his mind about going into Little Bend tonight and gone somewhere else instead? The way he used to when they were kids? Bret ran downstairs and heard a horse riding away from the ranch. He opened the door and watched the backside of his brother's mount make the turn toward the main road. That question unanswerable, he came back inside, just in time to see Pappy and Ben coming down the staircase.

"Close the door, Bret, don't let all the flies in," Ben chided him, and continued on out to the kitchen, where Lily Mae had supper ready and waiting.

When he entered the room Pappy looked up and said, "Where's your brother?"

"Gone somewhere," Bret answered as he sat down. "Did he say anything to either of you?"

"No," Beauregard answered, and Ben shook his head.

"Maybe he went to town already," Lily Mae suggested as she set the plates on the table. "He didn't eat before he left. No wonder a good strong wind'd blow him away."

"Do you suppose – " Pappy started.

"That he went to see Maude?" Ben finished.

"I have no idea what he's thinking," Bret answered. "You two probably confused the hell out of him. We'll just have to wait and see." Bret was worried. Bart had been sure about not working for Maude – had he changed his mind?

XXXXXXXX

Maude was already in the saloon mingling with her customers when Bart got there. He walked in and went straight to her, taking her by the elbow and quietly informing her, "We need to talk." He guided her back to her office and she went without protesting. When they got there he aimed her at her desk and turned back to close the door. "Sit down, Maude," was the next thing he told her, and she complied without protest.

She pulled a bottle of her best brandy out of the desk along with two glasses and poured them both a drink. Bart waved his off, but Maude downed hers without fanfare. Finished, she set her glass back down on the desk and looked his way. "To what do I owe this visit?" she inquired.

He leaned forward in his chair and wasted no time. "Is the job you offered me last night still available?"

She was beyond surprised. She'd developed a plan of action earlier in the day and now found she had no use for it – she hoped. "Why?"

"Is it?"

She nodded. "Yes." Could he – would he – change his mind?

"And the last offer you made me is still good?"

Maude was speechless. All she could do was nod 'yes.'

"Then I'll take the job."

She picked up the brandy he'd waved off and drank it. "Mr. Maverick, you have a deal." She stood up and offered him a handshake across the desk. Bart rose from the chair and walked around the desk until he reached her, then put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him. In one fluid movement he wrapped his arms around her and lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, a long, slow, lingering kiss that took her breath away. Then he turned her loose and returned to his chair in front of her desk. She staggered and grabbed the edge of the furniture to steady herself.

"Payment in advance?" she questioned once she'd started to regain her composure.

"The non-monetary part of the offer you made? Consider that payment in full. You can give me the fifteen thousand dollars before I leave town. How soon is this execution supposed to happen?"

Maude was still rattled. "Uh, two weeks. How soon can you be ready to go?"

"Tomorrow. What else do I need to know?"

"Are you staying here to play poker tonight?" Her voice was trembling; she could hardly believe it had been that easy.

He nodded. "Why?"

She answered him with a smile, her nerves finally beginning to settle down. "My attorney will be here at nine o'clock. He can give you all the details you need. You can come back then. Or you could stay now, and we could re-negotiate the second part of that offer."

He smiled, and for a moment she thought he was going to take her up on her offer to re-negotiate. Then he stood up and put his hat back on. "I'll be back at nine o'clock, Mrs. Donovan." He exited her office and left the door open behind him.

She sat at her desk and looked out that door, watching him walk straight to a poker table and take a seat. He almost reminded her of Doralice's father, Russell Donovan. The only difference was – she stopped herself right there. She still didn't know for sure if there was a difference or not. She'd have to wait and see if he managed to bring her daughter home before she decided.


	12. Marshal Rory Emory

Doralice

Chapter 11 – Marshal Rory Emory

"Bart Maverick, this is Cristian de la Torres, my attorney. Mr. de la Torres, Mr. Maverick. Cristian has handled all the negotiations with the Mexican government thus far. Bart is the man going down to bring my daughter back to me."

The men shook hands and both took a seat in Maude Donovan's office. Out again came the brandy bottle, this time with a third glass. Maude poured all three and waited to see who would drink with her. To her surprise, both men picked up a glass. She raised hers and made the toast – "To a successful trip." All three glasses were drained and set back down on the desk.

"Cristian, Bart has questions for you. Please give him as much information as you can." Maude got up and left the office, closing the door behind her. Bart turned to the attorney.

"I'm assuming the situation is as grim as Mrs. Donovan makes it sound."

de la Torres nodded. "If not more so." He reached over and lifted the bottle of brandy, pouring himself another drink. Bart declined the offer. "I've done everything in my power to keep Doralice alive and safe up to this point, but I've reached the end of money's influence. Quite frankly I'm surprised that she hasn't been abused in one way or another. The Federales have no compunction when it comes to prisoners, especially women prisoners. The only way to save her now is to steal her from them."

"I understand that, Mr. de la Torres. Mrs. Donovan said something about Texas Police identification. What do you have?"

"We have all the documentation needed to prove that Rory Emory is a Marshal with the Texas State Police, formerly known as the Texas Rangers, and has the appropriate extradition paperwork needed to assume control of the prisoner, Doralice Donovan Medina. You, of course, will be posing as Marshal Emory. The documents will pass official scrutiny. The only problem being that one of the Mexican Federals has worked with Emory in the past and knows him quite well. He was supposed to be transferred to another district in Mexico, but that has yet to happen. The Federales name is Javier Sanchez. I do not know what he looks like."

"Any other good news, Mr. de la Torres?"

"That's your big problem, Mr. Maverick. Get down there and get Doralice, avoid Officer Sanchez, and get back across the border. Straightforward."

"Don't I wish?" Bart asked. "Somethin' is bound to go wrong – it always does. Let's just hope it's nothin' I can't handle."

"Mrs. Donovan seems convinced that you are the exact right man for this job."

"I will be too if I can get both of us back here in one piece. Any other advice?"

"Make sure you take absolutely nothing with you that can identify you as Bart Maverick. Don't expect any help or rescue if they detain you. There will be none. And Mrs. Donovan will deny any knowledge of your undertaking. My best advice is simple – don't get caught."

Bart laughed to break the palpable tension in the room. "I'll take that advice to heart, Mr. de la Torres. Does Mrs. Donovan have the documentation in her possession? I'm leaving in the morning."

"Yes, Mr. Maverick, she has everything. One last word – trust no one. Anyone can be on the Medina payroll and you'll never know it until it's too late. Do you have any other questions?"

"No, sir, I think that's all."

The attorney stood, as did the gambler. De la Torres offered his hand and Bart shook it. "Vaya con Dios, Mr. Maverick. And good luck."

"Thanks, Mr. de la Torres. I hope the next time we meet it will be to celebrate the return of Mrs. Medina."

"So do I, Mr. Maverick. So do I."

XXXXXXXX

Bret breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted Bart's horse tethered outside 'Maude's.' All the way into town he worried that Bart had taken off for parts unknown, just as he had earlier in the day. He rode up to the open space next to Noble and dismounted, still curious as to exactly why Bart had been in such a hurry to get into town. Could there be more going on with Maude Donovan than met the eye? Bret doubted it, even his brother didn't have recuperative powers that worked that fast.

Pappy and Ben were already on to discussing another topic and didn't notice how quiet Bret was on the ride into Little Bend. He was really concerned about his brother; the last year had been more than the normal Maverick ordeal and Bart was emotionally spent. Last night he'd sounded like he was wavering in his response to Maude's offer – today he sounded even more so. If he could have his way, Bart would spend the next few weeks resting, physically and mentally, and participate in nothing more strenuous than helping him with Beau's psychological state, once their cousin arrived in Texas. Somehow his brother always seemed to end up diametrically opposed to Bret's wishes.

The three Maverick men walked into the saloon and immediately found their own poker games. Bret was pleased to see Bart already involved in one, and sort-of saluted his brother as he crossed the room. Bart nodded back and grinned, seeming to indicate that everything was perfectly normal. That worried Bret more than anything else he'd seen or heard in the last two days.

He didn't catch sight of Maude Donovan until almost an hour later, when she walked out of her office escorted by a well-dressed Hispanic man. A doctor or a lawyer, Bret guessed, and she obviously knew him well. They laughed about something and shared a 'friendly' kiss at the batwing doors, before the man departed the saloon. Bart gave no sign of paying attention to the leave-taking, and Bret wondered if he was worrying for nothing. That line of reasoning continued for a few minutes, until he caught the tiniest glance exchanged between the two parties. Something was going on between Maude and Bart, he was sure of it. Not the obvious, he thought, Maude wasn't at all the type of woman his brother got involved with. Something more subtle, and dark, and Bret again worried that Bart had been persuaded to change his mind about accepting Maude's job offer. Then one of the men he was playing poker with did something totally unexpected and Bret was forced to turn his attention back to the game in front of him. He'd make it a point to ride home with his brother and see if he could determine what was really going on.

' _Damn,'_ thought Bart, _'I shouldn't have looked up.'_ Maybe Bret didn't see the flash that passed between him and Maude Donovan; more than likely he had and Bart was going to have to come up with a reason for the visual exchange.Bart was mindful of the scrutiny his brother had him under and would just have to do nothing to encourage or explain anything further.

Poker went well until about three a.m., when Bret and Bart's games broke up within a few minutes of each other. The brothers joined up at the bar for one last cup of coffee and watched Pappy and Ben play for a few minutes, both in seeming control of the games at each of their tables. "Ok, what was it?" Bret asked at last, willing to wait no longer for an explanation.

"What was what?" his brother replied innocently.

"That look between you and Maude Donovan."

"When?"

Bret huffed in exasperation. "Quit playin' games with me, Bart Maverick. You know exactly what look I'm talking about."

"Oh, that. Maude's still tryin' to get me to change my mind and take the job."

"And?"

"That's all, Brother Bret. That's all there is to it."

"No, I mean has she been successful?"

"Would I be standin' around here drinkin' coffee with you if she had been?"

"I don't know, Bart. You're not the same man you were before that year in Arizona. That man I knew well. The one in front of me now, not so much anymore."

"I'm not that different, Pappy. You're just worryin' for nothin'."

' _Am I?'_ Bret wondered. _'Or is my brother more secretive than he used to be?'_ "Ready to head home?" he asked instead.

"Yep," came the answer, and Bret gave a tip of the hat to Pappy and Ben, letting them know they were on their own.

"What time do you suppose 'Mamie's' opens for breakfast?"

"I don't know, shall we go find out?"

"Lets," answered the momentarily evasive younger brother.


	13. The Badge

Doralice

Chapter 12 – The Badge

'Mamie's' was indeed open, and Bret got to meet the charming and thoroughly delightful Jenny. Since they were the only two customers in the café at the moment, Mamie came out and introduced herself, regaling them for almost an hour with tales of growing up with Lily Mae Connors, nee Travis. They ate and drank coffee and laughed, and learned stories of Lily Mae as a girl that they could use to torture her for days. It was a thoroughly delightful meal, and Bart hoped it wouldn't be the last one that he and his brother shared.

They rode home in relative silence until they were almost there. When Bret broke that silence, there was pleading in his voice. "Bart, promise me you aren't gonna go off and get yourself in another situation without any backup."

"What are you talking about, Brother Bret?"

"This awful feelin' I've got that there's somethin' goin' on that you're not talkin' about."

"You're worried for nothin'. I'm not gonna get involved in anything I can't handle."

' _That's just what I'm afraid of,'_ Bret thought. _'Your idea of what you can handle and mine aren't always the same thing.'_

Bret said nothing further, but the feeling didn't dissipate. The closer they got to Uncle Ben's house the stronger it got. Bret offered to take the horses to the barn, but Bart stepped up again. "Naw, I'll do it. I wanna give Noble a real good rubdown."

"Before sleepin'?" Bret questioned.

"Yeah," Bart answered. "He's just as tired as I am."

Bret turned his horse over to his brother, but his suspicions were still heightened. He kept wondering what Bart was up to, but it didn't appear he was going to find out much before tonight. Bart was just finishing by the time Pappy and Ben got home and offered to take care of their mounts, too. Bret was inside waiting when they came into the house.

"Bart took your horses, too?"

"Yes, is there somethin' wrong with that?" Pappy asked.

"No, nothin' at all," Bret answered, still sure that his younger brother was up to something. He yawned and knew that sleep was rapidly approaching. He decided to give Bart the benefit of the doubt and went up to his room, assuming he could talk to his younger brother again at supper.

Pappy and Ben weren't far behind, and soon the only one in the house not sleeping was Lily Mae. When Bart finished with Noble he went straight upstairs to pack everything that looked like a lawman would wear it. He remembered to remove his wallet and leave it on his gambler's clothes. When that was finished, he sat down and wrote his brother a note.

 _Bret – Sorry for being so evasive with my answers to your questions, but I didn't want to lie to you. I also didn't want you to try and talk me out of going after Doralice Medina. I know I'm not her brother, like you pointed out, but I can't let her hang for defending herself. She doesn't have the best brother in the world to rescue her, so I'm gonna try._

 _Maude's payment is in the bank in your name. Just in case something happens to me, at least I've left you something other than worry and grief. Take good care of Beau and Ben and Pappy, especially Pappy, if I don't come back. And always remember just how much you mean to me._

 _Always have been, always will be, your little brother, Bart_

He sealed the note in an envelope and took it downstairs with him. Lily Mae was in the kitchen, already working on supper, and she knew he'd changed his mind as soon as she saw the traveling bag packed. "You've taken the job, haven't you?"

He nodded his head and saw the sadness in her eyes. "None of them knows I changed my mind. Will you give this to Bret when he wakes up? I don't want him following me and this is the only way I could prevent it." Bart gave Lily Mae the envelope and a hug, and there was a tremor in his voice as he told her, "Do you know how much I love you, Miss Lily?"

She held onto him for an extra minute and wiped the tears out of her eyes as she answered him. "I love you too, Mr. B. You come back to us, you hear?"

He laughed a little. "I fully intend to, Lily Mae. And don't be mad at Pappy and Uncle Ben, please? They had nothing to do with my change of heart. Just be good to them, all of them. They're all I've got. Them and you." He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and was gone.

XXXXXXXX

Maude was walking around afraid to breathe; worried that Bart would change his mind and not return to town this morning as promised. She didn't quit worrying until she saw him walk in the saloon around ten in the morning. He looked different, dressed more like a Texas Ranger and less like a card sharp. She smiled and turned back into her office, knowing he'd follow her. She went to her desk and unlocked the middle drawer, taking his fifteen thousand dollars out and setting it on top. The saloon was as still as it could be and she heard boots cross the wooden floor and arrive at her office, and looked up to see him standing in the doorway. "This what you're after?" she asked as she held up the roll of money.

"Partly," was his answer. "I've come to collect my papers."

"Want to take this to the bank first?" Maude handed him the money. "Don't you want to count it?"

"No, ma'am, I don't think you'd fool around with your daughter's life. But I do want to go to the bank. Do you wanna come with me?"

"No, Bart, I'll wait here."

He put the money in his jacket pocket and left. Within a few minutes he was back, having deposited the money in Bret's account and gotten a receipt for it. "Can you give this to my brother tonight when he comes in?"

"Sure," Maude answered him. "Is that all?"

"That's it. I left him a letter at home. He won't give you any trouble."

"He doesn't know?"

"That I took you up on your offer? No. Neither do Pappy or Uncle Ben. I didn't want any of them trying to talk me out of it."

She nodded. "Good thinking. Families can be somewhat – obtuse, sometimes."

"You have some paperwork for me?"

"Yes, sir." She opened the desk drawer on the right side and took out a stack of papers, going through them one by one and reading them off to him. "Extradition Order, signed by President Ulysses S. Grant and Governor Edmund J. Davis. Agreement to Honor Extradition Order, signed by Benito Juárez, President of Mexico. And lastly, Identification Papers for Marshal Rory Emory, Texas State Police, First Effective October 22, 1867. Oh, and this little badge." She laid the papers on the desk in front of him, with the 'Texas State Police' badge on top.

Bart picked it up and examined it carefully, running his fingers over the front of it to see how it felt. It was a curious gesture, but Maude wasn't about to question the motivation for anything he did. He folded the papers carefully and put them inside the wallet he was carrying, then pinned the badge on the outside of the wallet. Jed Thompson in Denver carried his that way; he maintained that it was easy enough to get to but well enough hidden to be protected from prying eyes.

"Looks like that's all I need, Maude. Any last requests before I go?"

"Yes, there is." Maude walked around the desk, much as Bart had the previous night, reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "Come back in one piece with my daughter, would you please?"

"I'll do my best," he promised and headed for the door. "Don't forget that receipt for my brother," he called over his shoulder as he walked back through the saloon. She heard the batwing doors swing closed and he was gone.


	14. Subterfuge and Coffee

Doralice

Chapter 13 – Subterfuge and Coffee

"Bret, your brother wanted me to give you this." She handed Bret the envelope and he took it, then turned and ran back upstairs as fast as he could. Bart's door was open, and his gambling coats were all still hung in the closet; there was a pile of shirts on the dresser and Bart's wallet, with it's engraved 'Bart Maverick' on the outside, lay on top of them. His boots, hat and gun were all gone. "Damn it, Bart, what did you do?" He ran back down the staircase and out to the barn. Noble was gone.

Bret walked back in the house; Beauregard and Ben had awoken and were sitting in front of the fireplace while Lily Mae put the finishing touches on supper. Pappy watched him and asked the question. "What's wrong, Bret?"

Bret leaned against the stone fireplace and read the letter. When he was finished he walked past Pappy and dropped the letter in his lap. As Beauregard read it aloud to Ben, Bret continued into the kitchen and asked the housekeeper, "Did he tell you what he was doing, Lily Mae?"

She nodded her head and stared down at the floor. "Yes, he did, Bret. And asked me to give you the letter."

"What time was that?"

"Around eight thirty this morning."

' _Damn,'_ thought Bret, _'that's why he gave Noble a rubdown. He never went to bed. He was waitin' for us to sleep.'_ "Did he pack a bag?"

"Yes, he did."

"How was he dressed, Lily?"

"Not workin' clothes, Bret. Dressed like he was goin' out for a ride. He didn't take much with him."

"He had his gun on?"

"Yes. I gave him a hug and I felt it."

"Why didn't you wake me, Lily Mae?" Lily sat down at the table and put her head in her hands. "Don't cry, Lily, it's not your fault." Bret knelt down next to her chair and put his arms around her. "It's not your fault."

Lily Mae sobbed, her heart broken. "Oh, I knew I should! I just knew I should. He didn't want you to follow him, told me to take care of all of you for him. Told me that he loved me and then he just – he just left."

Bret held her and rocked her, just as she'd done for him the day they buried his momma. "It's alright, Lily. You didn't do anything wrong. You just did what he asked you to."

"Bret!" Pappy yelled from the front room. "Come in here."

"Are you alright, Lily Mae?" Bret asked as he stood up. "Pappy's callin' me."

"Go, Bret, go on. I'm all right."

Bret laid his hand on her shoulder and then went to his father. There were tears in Beauregard's eyes, and his voice was shaky. "Is this because of us?" Pappy asked his oldest son.

"No," Bret answered. "No, he spent the last twenty-four hours talkin' himself into it. It's what he wanted to do all along Pappy, he couldn't leave her down there to hang. Don't you know what kind of a man you raised?"

Pappy cleared his throat and looked up. His eyes were dry and his voice was steady as he said, "I do now."

XXXXXXXX

Bart rode out of town, almost directly south, headed for Reynosa, Mexico. In his mind he kept repeating: ' _Rory Emory, Rory Emory, Marshal Rory Emory, Rory Emory. Marshal Emory,'_ until it became a litany. He rode until he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore, then he found a spot in the rocks and made camp. He was glad to have Noble with him; at least he had an equine lookout. It only took moments to fall asleep, a dreamless and dark slumber.

It was late afternoon when he woke, with Noble snorting his displeasure at something Bart couldn't see. He made a small fire and heated some beans, just to put something in his stomach. As soon as he'd eaten he put the fire out and gathered his belongings together; in just a few minutes Noble was re-saddled and they were off again. Bart passed the time by trying to imagine what Doralice Medina would look like now, since he'd only seen her as a girl of sixteen.

He laughed to himself, thinking how his believing he was Doc Holliday for almost a year had prepared him to 'play' a lawman. From there his mind drifted back to his family, and he wondered just how mad Bret would be at him for leaving without anything more than a note of apology. Bret knew him well enough to understand; he wasn't sure Pappy would. If he was lucky his brother would explain to everyone why he had to go. If he wasn't lucky, it wouldn't matter anyway.

Everything in front of him looked the same as he rode, the only change being it got drier and hotter as he traveled. He held to the same schedule, trying to ride all night while it was cooler and sleep during the day. He pushed both of them, himself and Noble, to get there as soon as possible, lest the order come down to move Doralice to Monterrey before he arrived. He read over the little information Cristian de la Torres provided on Rory Emory so many times he knew it well: only child, father killed in the war, mother died soon after, deputy marshal in San Antonio for four years, finally commissioned by the Texas Rangers in 1867, and then the Texas State Police when they 'replaced' the Rangers. Married once, wife killed by escaped prisoner, no children. The facts played in his head right along with the name, until he could recite them without thinking. He might have to do that, if he was to pull off this masquerade successfully.

His first test came in the little town of Kingsville, Texas. He'd stopped to get a decent meal; his belly was more than tired of beans and jerky and he needed something he couldn't heat over a fire. He was in the middle of breakfast when the local sheriff wandered in and made his way to Bart's table.

"New in town?" the sheriff inquired.

"On my way through," Bart replied.

"Don't get too many strangers through here," the sheriff continued. "One of two types. Outlaws runnin' from somethin', or the lawmen chasin' 'em. Which one are you?"

"Neither."

"Oh? Do I need to run you in until I figure it out for myself?"

Bart tried a different tactic. "Join me for coffee, sheriff?"

"Howser. Sheriff Howser. Don't mind if I do, thanks. But you still haven't answered my question."

Bart started to reach for his wallet and the sheriff quickly drew his gun. "Easy, Howser. Just gettin' this out." He pulled the wallet, with the badge attached, from his jacket and set it on the table.

"Well why didn't you say so? You got a name, Marshal?"

"It's not something I advertise, Sheriff. Emory. Rory Emory. On my way to pick up a prisoner."

"Got far to go?"

Bart nodded. "Reynosa."

"Reynosa? Say, you wouldn't be the one comin' for that gal they're fixin' to hang, would ya?"

Another nod. "You know about that?"

"Sure." Howser sat back and drank his coffee. "Don't see too many women hung, specially one that looks like that. Murdered her husband, eh? What's that all about?"

"Don't know, don't care. All I know is she's wanted back in Austin. Got an extradition order."

"Good luck with that. Just because you got a piece'a paper don't mean you're gonna get 'er. Course I'd be real surprised if she still looks the way she did when they arrested her. Federales probably passed her around a bunch by now."

Bart ate the last piece of bacon on his plate and drained his coffee cup. The thought of a woman being treated like so much chattel was enough to make him lose what appetite he had left. "I'll get her. One way or the other."

Howser got up and pushed his chair back under the table. "Well, I gotta go. Thanks for the coffee."

Bart nodded. "Thanks for the information." He picked the wallet up from the table and put it back inside his coat. Everything within him hoped the sheriff was wrong about the Federales treatment of Doralice Medina. Could they be that inhuman? Would they be? He paid his bill and went out to collect his horse, wondering what kind of an unpleasant surprise awaited him in Mexico. There was only one way to find out. Noble whinnied and Bart seconded the notion. "Let's go see just we have waiting for us, old man."


	15. Mexican Stand-Off

Doralice

Chapter 14 – Mexican Stand-Off

Bret saddled his horse and left Ben's ranch as soon as he was dressed. He needed to be far away from his relatives right now, especially his father, who'd just helped push his brother into a mission of mercy that might end up killing him. He was angry, angrier than he'd ever been at Pappy, and he couldn't sit and make small talk.

He rode into Little Bend but didn't go to 'Maude's'. Smell or no smell, he went to the 'Horseshoe Bar & Poker Palace' to play and think in peace, with no unwanted relatives to bother him. He'd been there about two hours when who should walk in the front door but Maude. A hush fell over the saloon; everyone knew Maude and what she owned. Bret had his back to the door at the time and didn't see her walk in, but he knew something was up when everything got suddenly quiet. She stood beside him and waited until the hand was over, which was quick since no one was about to bet against the man that Maude Donovan had come looking for.

Without turning his head or looking at her, he acknowledged her presence. "Mrs. Donovan, what can I do for you?"

"You can come back to 'Maude's' with me so we can speak in private, Mr. Maverick."

"We have nothing to discuss, Mrs. Donovan." It was Bret's turn to deal, and around the table he went with the cards.

"I wouldn't call fifteen-thousand dollars nothing, Mr. Maverick."

"I'd call it my brother's money, Mrs. Donovan."

"No sir, I'd call it your money. Will you come back with me?"

"No, ma'am, I'm in the middle of a hand. But I will come when I'm through for the night."

"Fair enough, Mr. Maverick. I look forward to seeing you later."

"Yes, ma'am."

Maude left without a backward glance and Bret continued his game. "I'll see your twenty-five and raise fifty," he told the other players.

XXXXXXXX

It was almost four in the morning when Bret finally made it into "Maude's'. Surprisingly, he was the only Maverick in the place. Either Pappy and Ben had gone somewhere else to play poker or they'd stayed home; Bret didn't much care which. Maude was behind the bar, business had been slow enough earlier that she'd sent Harry away and taken over pouring duties herself. She smiled when she saw him walk in; Beauregard Maverick had certainly sired two fine looking men.

"Here as requested, Mrs. Donovan," Bret announced as he arrived at the bar.

"I have a first name, Bret. Won't you use it?"

"Alright, Maude, what did you want to see me about?"

"Your brother left something for you. Let me get Jeri to take over the bar and I'll meet you in my office. It's – " and she pointed towards her office.

Bret nodded and went that way. Maude motioned a tall redhead over and handed her the bar keys. "Jeri, can you take over for me? I have some unfinished business."

Jeri Howard laughed and took the keys. "Ok boss lady. But just in case you can't finish your business with the one in your office, I'd like to give it a try."

Maude laughed along with Jeri. "Believe me, if I get a chance to finish my business with him, I will."

Bret stood as Maude entered the office and closed the door. "Please, Bret, sit down."

She sat down behind her desk and opened a drawer, pulling out the bank receipt Bart left with her. "This is yours," she told Bret as she handed it to him.

He looked at it carefully and then set it back down on the desk. "Not mine. It belongs to my brother."

Maude shook her head and gave a little laugh. "Bart was right. You're just as stubborn as he is." She picked the receipt back up and read it. "Deposited to the account of Bret Maverick, fifteen-thousand dollars." She set it back down in front of him. "It has your name on it."

'I don't care what it says, Mrs. Donovan, it belongs to my brother."

"You're exasperating, Bret. Worse than your brother could ever hope to be. He made me promise to give this to you. Please don't make me go back on my word."

Bret picked up the receipt and tore it into pieces. "Alright, Maude, you gave it to me. Was that all?"

"Why are you angry with me? I offered your brother a job, he took it. I didn't make him take it. I didn't twist his arm. I didn't threaten him or you in any way. Seems if you want to be mad at someone you might want it to be someone else."

Bret sat there for a minute without saying anything and came to the conclusion that she was right. The person he should be mad at was Bart himself, for taking the job. But Bart wasn't here, so it was easier to be upset with Maude for offering it in the first place. "Why Bart?" he finally asked her.

"Several reasons, all good ones. He stays calm under pressure. He's expert at bluffing people. He's quick, and I mean that in the best possible way. He's smart. And he looks and acts like the kind of man you don't want to mess with. And he's done so many different jobs that one more didn't seem like it was gonna phase him."

He agreed with everything she said, but there was something she didn't know that was relevant. "I lost him for almost a year, Maude. I don't wanna run the risk of losin' him again."

"What do you mean you lost him for a year?"

"How much time have you got?"

"Enough," she answered. He'd intrigued her, and she wanted to hear the story, no matter how long it took.

So Bret sat in Maude's office and told her everything he knew – the rockslide, the search for the body, Bart's injuries, his recuperation at the Stanhope Ranch and the belief that he was Doc Holliday, his romance with Amy Stanhope, Bret and Doc's final successful search, the amnesia about his real personality, and, finally, the regaining of his memory. About the desire to return to his roots in Texas and rest, and the disruption of that recuperation by her job offer. She sat and listened to everything Bret told her, and never made a sound until he was done. Then all she could do was shake her head.

"He never said a word about any of that," Maude told him. "And I'm sorry that's been his existence for the past year. But it wouldn't have changed my offer. My child's life is at stake here – just like your brothers was while you searched for him. He's my last best hope. If he can't bring her back – well, it will all come to an obvious conclusion. And I won't lose her for a year – I'll lose her forever." When Maude was done, they sat and stared at each other – each lost in their own brand of misery. There was nothing more to say.

Once again Maude took the brandy bottle out of her desk. She looked at Bret and he nodded; she removed two glasses and poured the shots. Both drank their brandy and Bret set his glass back down on the desk. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked.

"I don't see what," she answered. "He's on his own, I'm afraid."

Bret put his hat back on and stood up, tipping it to Maude as he did so. "Mrs. Donovan, you know where I am if you need anything."

"I do, Mr. Maverick. Thank you."

And just like Bart had almost twenty-four hours ago, Bret left her office and walked through the saloon. She heard the batwing doors swing closed and he was gone.


	16. The Prisoner

Doralice

Chapter 15 – The Prisoner

Five days later a horse and rider sat atop a hill and gazed over the valley that spread out before them. Down on the west side stood an adobe building that could have been any of a dozen businesses or houses. It consisted of one big room, with bars on the front window, and a door that locked from the outside with a small aperture in it. It was a jail. Next to it was a one-room wooden shed that served as a guard shack built up against the eastern wall, and it had a luxury – a bench on the tiny front porch. It was the best place to be when the weather got hot.

Right now there was a chill in the air. Winter was coming, and even though it never got cold, the nights could be uncomfortable. The rider looked down into the valley and wondered if the woman he was here to retrieve was in shape to do any riding. He certainly hoped so; there was no other way to get her back to Texas. He started his descent, the horse taking it slowly and carefully, picking his way through the rocks. Everything looked so close, but it took almost all day to get down the hill and across the valley to the jail. By the time the rider got there he was worn out.

The jail was empty.

XXXXXXXX

The days passed more slowly than they ever had in Bret's life, even slower than the last few days of school when he was a kid. There was little talking in the house, mostly the conversations were between Pappy and Ben. Bret avoided them whenever possible; Lily Mae fed them, and cleaned their house, but spoke only to Bret and even then not much. He kept telling her everything would be alright. Sometimes he even believed it.

He went into town before they did and usually returned home long after they arrived. Most days he stayed long enough to have breakfast at 'Mamie's'. Mamie and Jenny were people to talk to who listened to his worries and fears for his brother and did their best to provide non-judgmental comfort.

At last the wire came they'd been waiting for – Beau would arrive in Little Bend the next day, on the afternoon stage. That was the deciding factor when Bret walked into the kitchen, finally willing to let go of his feelings of anger towards his father and uncle.

"So Beau's gonna be here tomorrow."

His relatives both looked up from their lunch, almost startled that he'd spoken to them. Lily Mae stood in the alcove to the kitchen, a slight smile creasing her face.

"Uh, yes," Ben was noncommittal.

"I think it's time we started talking to each other, don't you? For Beau's sake, if nothing else?" Bret was offering the olive branch, at last.

Pappy opened his mouth to say something, and then stopped. "That sounds like a good idea, son," was what finally came out.

"I'll ride into town with you all tonight if that's agreeable."

"You'd be welcome," Ben offered.

And just like that, the 'feud' was over. When Bret walked past Lily Mae, she reached out and patted his face, the way she used to when he and his brother would come running into the house on their visits. He continued on into the main room and then upstairs, straight to Bart's room. Once there he closed the door and laid down, falling asleep easily for the first time in days.

XXXXXXXX

It took Bart just a few minutes to find the local law in Reynosa. It was an Inspector Jefe, and he seemed almost eager to share his knowledge of the beautiful asesina with the pretend-Ranger.

"Si, Mariscal Emory, se la llevaron a Monterrey para ser ahorcado. No sabíamos que era de ella."

"When?" was all Bart asked.

"Esta mañana," the Inspector Jefe told him.

Worn out or not, Bart needed to leave immediately for Monterrey. Since moving Doralice was not in the original plan, the Federales were liable to proceed with the hanging as soon as they got her there. No sleeping in a bed tonight; Bart found food and water for Noble and headed right back out, this time going slightly southwest.

He rode all night, pushing both of them well beyond the point of exhaustion. He was forced to stop shortly after dawn when neither he nor Noble could go any further. Three short hours later they were back on the trail, still weary but with just enough energy to push forward.

By mid-afternoon the transport party was within sight. They were camped about a mile up ahead, apparently abiding by Bart's original plan to ride at night and sleep during the daylight hours. He was inclined to stop and do the same but couldn't risk over-sleeping and losing them again.

The caravan was still undisturbed for the most part by the time he reached them. The sentry posted at the edge of camp stopped him with a raised rifle, signaling Bart to 'ride closer' when he spotted the badge held up in the daylight.

" . Mariscal, Policía Estatal de Texas," Bart called out to the sentry.

He rode another ten feet before the Federale barked out "Alto!" Noble stopped, he'd heard the command before. The sentry approached, never lowering his rifle, and motioned Bart to the ground. The gambler dismounted and held his hands up in the air, reins in one and his wallet with the badge attached in the other.

"Policia?" Questioned the camp guard.

"Si, policia, " answered the 'pretend' Ranger.

"Capitán!"

Bart looked in the same direction as the sentry; an older, higher-ranking officer approached.

"Capitán, me – " Bart started, and was quickly interrupted.

"I speak English, Señor."

"Rory Emory, Texas State Police."

"Marshal Emory, you were following us?"

"That's correct, Captain. You're the party that left Reynosa yesterday?"

The officer nodded. "Si. And you wanted to stop us, why?"

Bart wasted no time. He was too tired to do so. "I'm supposed to take custody of your prisoner, Doralice Donovan Medina."

"No, no, no, no, no, Marshal Emory. We are transporting her to Monterrey, to be hung for her crimes."

"You were taking her to Monterrey. I'm taking her back to Austin. If you'll allow me – " Bart removed the extradition papers and the approval of same from his wallet and handed them to the Captain.

The officer spent a long time examining everything, and Bart wondered if the forged papers were going to pass his inspection. When the Captain eventually looked up, there was just the trace of a smirk on his face, as if he was more than happy to hand their prisoner over to someone else to deal with. "Si, Marshal Emory, everything seems to be in order." He turned to the sentry. "Que el preso aquí, Escorza."

The Federale saluted his captain and hurried off. The officer turned back to Bart. "I am happy she will be your problem from now on, Señor. She has been nothing but - a handful?"

Bart took the paperwork back that the captain gave him and carefully folded it into the wallet. "A handful?" he asked.

The captain didn't have time to reply. Four soldiers were dragging something towards him, and it took a minute to recognize what they were struggling with as a human. Hair matted and filthy, clothes torn and half off, bruises almost everywhere, leg irons, chains and handcuffs visible, Doralice Donovan Medina looked nothing like the portrait that hung over her mother's desk in Little Bend.

Asesina - murderess

Mariscal Emory, se la llevaron a Monterrey para ser ahorcado. No sabíamos que era de ella – Marshal Emory, she was taken to Monterrey to be hanged. We did not know anyone was coming for her.

Esta mañana – This morning

. Mariscal, Policía Estatal de Texas – U.S. Marshal, Texas State Police

Que el preso aquí, Escorza - Bring the prisoner here, Escorza.


	17. Follow Your Heart

Doralice

Chapter 16 – Follow Your Heart

Everything still wasn't quite back to normal at the mansion, but at least the inhabitants were now speaking to each other. They debated horses versus buggy to go pick up Beau and horses finally won out. Beauregard and Bentley even managed to be early, so Bret had time to check in at 'Maude's' and see if the lady herself was in her office. She was, and Bret knocked and waited until she yelled "Come in!" before doing so.

"Bret! To what do I owe the pleasure?" Maude seemed genuinely pleased to see him. Whatever differences they might have had were so much water under the bridge.

"Just wondered if you'd heard anything from Mexico."

"I did, indeed. I got a wire from Bart when he got to Milway, right before he crossed the border. Everything was fine, so far. Said he'd send another one as soon as they were back in Texas. In the next day or two, I'm hoping. What brings you to town in the daylight hours?"

He smiled for the first time in days and sat down. "Cousin Beau is finally comin' in on the stage this afternoon."

"Good Lord, you mean there's another one?"

"Another what?" Bret was slightly confused.

"Another Maverick man," Maude explained. "Any more lurking in the shadows somewhere? And how did Texas ever let you all get away?" She laughed and Bret accepted the questions as a joke.

"Yeah, there's one more, but she's a girl. Jody, in Montana. Her mother was Beau's wife."

"What? I'm confused."

"It's a long story. I'll explain it to you once Bart's back in one piece. I have to go, Pappy and Uncle Ben are waitin' for me. If we're not in tonight, we'll be in tomorrow and I'll introduce you to Cousin Beau. Let me know if you hear anything, will ya?"

"Yes, sir. That I can do. And Bret, thanks."

"For what?"

"For everything, for anything. Go, I'll be in touch."

Bret left the saloon and rejoined Pappy and Ben at the stage depot just as the coach pulled around the corner and into town. Three people got out, the last one was Beau. Father and son embraced, then Pappy shook hands with his namesake before enveloping him in a Maverick-style bear hug. Beau stood in front of Bret, looking him up and down. "Home agrees with you, Cousin Bret."

Bret finally grabbed his cousin and gave him another hug. "It'll fatten you up, too," Bret laughed, referring to the few pounds he'd put on since eating Lily Mae's cooking regularly.

"Where's Cousin Bart? Couldn't get out of bed to come greet me?"

"Beau . . . . . I'll explain on the way home." Bret didn't really want to rehash the whole story in front of Pappy and Ben; it had just settled down. Bret held Beau at arm's length and looked at him. Why was it when the Maverick men started to go to seed they lost weight and let their hair grow? Beau looked better than he had the last time Bret saw him, in Silver Creek, but definitely like he needed Lily Mae taking care of him for a while. He put his arm around his cousin's shoulders and guided him to the horses. "You two ride on ahead, please," Bret directed Pappy and Ben, and they were gracious enough to do so.

Once they were on the road home, Bret began the tale that had taken place since his and Bart's return to Little Bend. They were home by the time he finished. "And you're talking to them?" Beau asked, surprised that his cousin was civil to the two elder Mavericks. Bret adored and respected Pappy and Uncle Ben, but when it came to his brother . . . . . . .

Bret laughed; his cousin knew him almost as well as his brother did. "Just resumed," and Bret and Beau laughed together. Up ahead Beauregard and Ben exchanged glances and smiles, glad to hear some mirth after the last few days of doom and gloom.

The hugs and kisses were repeated over and over again, each time Lily Mae so much as glanced at the man she'd helped raise. Finally she brought out lunch for everyone and patted his arm as he sat down to eat, telling him, "We'll talk later." Beau nodded and bit into the roast beef and mashed potatoes, always his favorite of Lily Mae's culinary delights.

"I haven't tasted anything like that in years," he smiled after swallowing. "Lily hasn't lost her touch at all, has she?"

"No, but I know some things about our dear Lily Mae that might make your hair stand on end," Bret whispered conspiratorially. "One of her old friends opened up a café in town. And Mamie spilled the beans on Lily. Next time we go into town I'll take you to 'Mamie's' for breakfast."

"Sounds like a good idea. And I have to meet Maude Donovan, too."

"Oh, you will. Maude's already put in her request for that. Mavericks have some strange fascination for Mrs. Donovan."

"Misses?"

"Widowed," Bret answered. "If you're too tired to go tonight, we can make it tomorrow."

"No, tonight works fine. I'd rather not sit here my first night back and watch my father stare at me, waiting to see if I fall apart on him. If we're out he might treat me like his son rather than an object of pity."

"How are you doing?" Bret asked his cousin. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Uncle Ben watching them carefully.

There was hesitancy, then an answer. "I'm alright most of the time. It's been a while now, and Jody and I were together through most of it." He sighed, he'd almost started to get used to it. "I miss her most in the mornings, Bret. When I roll over in bed, and she's not there. We used to talk and laugh for hours, about everything. If Jody and Beck would ever set a wedding date, how many hearts you'd break this year, if Bart and Uncle Beau would be able to make peace with each other. That's the worst of it, when I want to tell her something and . . . . she's not there. Don't fall in love, Cousin, because when it ends its hell."

There it was again, that fleeting glimpse passing through Bret's mind of Marybeth Canton. Had he loved her? If not, why did she appear at the most inopportune times? He shook his head, to clear out the memories of the woman that had given her life to save his brother, and looked at Beau. "Yeah, I imagine it is. I'm sorry you and Bart have both been through it."

Beau pushed his plate away. "I can't eat anymore, Lily Mae. I'm stuffed."

"Hmmpf. You and Mr. B. Need to sit you both down and have a come to Jesus meetin' about your dinin' habits. They're awful. We'll discuss this further when Mr. B gets back. Don't you have some unpackin' to do?"

A typical Maverick head nod accompanied the verbal answer. "Yes, ma'am. I do. Come keep me company, Bret?"

"Sure," Bret answered, and thought immediately of his brother, since "sure" was Bart's second favorite word.

Bret trailed his cousin upstairs, to his childhood bedroom. "Good thing there aren't any more of us, Lily Mae would be out of rooms. How many times did we come up here and try to hide when she was mad at one or the other of us?"

"I was thinkin' about that before Bart left. Remember the night we caught the toads and brought them in so we could have toad races in the house?"

Beau nodded and began to laugh. "And couldn't understand why Lily Mae ran around screaming the next morning? How did we live to grow up? She should have killed us a long time ago."

"She didn't have to. We did enough to ourselves. How many broken bones do you suppose the three of us had altogether?"

"Enough to make a whole new human. Poor Cousin Bart, one thing or another was always broken. Sounds like he's still doin' the same thing."

Bret put his foot up on a chair and watched Beau unpack. He had always been the most fastidious of the three of them and now was no different. "I'm worried, Beau. He wasn't gonna do this so-called job at first, then he talked himself into it. Maybe he just wanted somethin' to distract him from Amy Stanhope and that whole identity mess. This one could get him killed."

Beau turned from the closet with a coat in his hands. "Every one he does could get him killed, Bret. And he always seems to come out of it."

"Yeah, but you didn't see him when he thought he was Doc. If it wasn't for the whiskey drinkin' you woulda thought he was Doc Holliday. He even walked like a man lookin' for trouble. Now he's out playin' lawman. Where does he get these notions?"

Beau finally sat down on the bed. He'd given up trying to figure his cousin Bart out a long time ago. "You know how your brother is, Bret. He's got his own rules, his own sense of what's right and wrong. He always has. And he's always gonna do what he thinks is right. You know what kind of a heart he has. That's what he's always gonna follow. If you and I are lucky, sometimes he drags us along with him. And sometimes we have to follow him, just so we can keep him alive."

"That's what I'm worried about, Beau. I think this may be one of those times. And we're not followin' him."

"Then maybe we should be, Cousin Bret. Maybe we should be."


	18. Do You Know the Way to Pesquería?

Doralice

Chapter 17 – Do You Know the Way to Pesquería?

Surely the captain was joking. "This is Doralice Medina?"

"Si, Señor Emory. This is your prisoner."

"And why is she in leg irons, Captain?"

The captain said something to one of the soldiers that Bart didn't catch, and the guard reached down with the key and unlocked the leg irons. Before Bart could even draw a breath, the other guards let go of her and she took off running for all she was worth.

"I suggest you go catch your prisoner, Marshal Emory," was all the captain said as he gave Bart a look that was meant to explain everything. Great, the last thing he needed as tired as he was.

Bart took off after her and finally caught her about 200 yards away. He grabbed her by the arm and spun her around to face him, breathing as if he'd just run a mile. She glared at him with a look of pure hatred and spat in his face. He reached for a handkerchief and she struggled mightily to loosen his grasp on her arm. There was no one within hearing distance and he gave her a shake and ordered her, "Settle down, Mrs. Medina, if you want to go home to your mother." Startled, she stopped struggling and walked dutifully back to the captain with him.

The officer was impressed. "Well, Marshal Emory, you seem to have tamed the beast. I wonder if you can get her back to Texas without killing her?"

"Is there a horse that goes with her, Captain, or do I have to drag her behind me?" Bart was none too pleased with the way the 'prisoner transfer' had been handled, but he dare not aggravate the captain, lest the extradition order be ignored. The man in charge nodded to the guard that had unlocked the leg irons and he walked to the line of mounts and untied a horse, talking his time leading the animal back to where Bart and the woman stood. He handed the reins over and then added the leg irons, along with the key for them and the chains around her waist, and finally the keys to the handcuffs.

Bart helped her mount and kept hold of the reins, then turned to the captain. "Thank you for the assistance," he told the man in charge and walked the horse back to where Noble stood. He wrapped the reins around the saddle horn and mounted, heading Noble and the horse holding Doralice away from the camp. As soon as they got out of sight Bart pulled Noble to a halt and walked the other mount up alongside.

"Who are you?" the woman demanded in a petulant tone. He couldn't help but think that she sounded like Samantha Crawford.

"I'm Rory Emory, Marshal with the Texas State Police," he answered from memory.

She snorted a laugh. "Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England. Who are you really?"

"Right at the moment, your best hope of getting out of Mexico without being hung."

XXXXXXXX

The four Maverick men rode into Little Bend that evening, Bret with Pappy and Beau with his own father. Beauregard was unusually quiet and Bret was the one to break the silence. "Good to have Beau home."

"Mmm-hmm."

"You feelin' alright, Pappy?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"What's wrong?"

"Just thinkin."

Bret sighed. It was always dangerous when Pappy started thinking. "About what?"

"Your brother."

"What about Bart?"

"You're both my sons, you grew up together, and you're as different as night and day."

"Not really, Pappy. You'd be surprised."

"No, Bret. You and Beau are more alike than you and your brother. I'm always amazed by the things that Bartley does. Like this escapade, for example. Why does he get himself into these things? For money?" Beauregard's voice sounded hopeful that it was that simple.

"Nope. Maybe it's got somethin' to do with how sick he was growin' up. He's got a soft spot for the hopeless cases. Like he's out to prove anything's possible."

The patriarch's head shook. "I raised you better than that."

That caused the son to laugh heartily. "Whatever you say."

"Would you have taken Maude up on her offer?"

"For that kind of money? Maybe."

"But that's not why Bart did it."

"Nope. Bart saw a chance to rescue somebody who needed rescuing."

"Why? That's what I don't understand. Why does he always have to be somebody's knight in shining armor?"

Bret's turn for a shake of the head. "That's just who your youngest son is, Pappy. I have no desire to follow in his footsteps."

"Thank God I got one sensible son."

"Sometimes, Pappy, only sometimes." He turned in his saddle. "Cousin Beau, welcome to 'Maude's.'"

XXXXXXXX

It was a little tiny town named Pesquería, so far off the main roads that even the locals had trouble finding it. Bart had been there once, right after Caroline was killed, and remembered its location when he realized Doralice needed more help than a canteen of water could provide.

Once they got far enough away from the original transport brigade, Bart stopped and removed the chains and handcuffs from his 'prisoner.' She'd quit badgering him with questions and seemed grateful for the relief that taking the cuffs off provided. Her wrists were rubbed raw from them, and for the first time in two days she could move about freely. They rode for another hour in relative silence before making the turn towards Pesquería, and she finally questioned Bart again.

"Where are we going?"

"Back to Texas."

"No, I mean now."

"Pesquería."

"Is that a real place?"

"No, Mrs. Medina, I'm taking you to a mirage."

"Don't call me that. Mrs. Medina is dead. She died a while back. My name is Doralice. Doralice Donovan."

"Alright, Doralice. Pesquería is a real place, I've been there before. We can get food and maybe get you cleaned up some."

"I imagine I'm not a pretty sight."

"Nothing a little soap and water and clean clothes wouldn't fix."

They rode on for a few minutes and then little adobe huts began to appear. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you were gonna be hung."

"Did my mother really send you?"

"Yes."

They stopped in front of a little building that said 'almacenar' on it. "Stay here, please," he asked as he dismounted and went inside. A few minutes later he returned carrying something that looked like clothes in his arms. "Come on down," he instructed her, and Doralice slid off the horse with ease.

"They have hot water, you can take a bath. Here's clean clothes, let me know if you want anything else. Oh yeah, and this too." Bart handed her the clothes and a hairbrush.

"Inside?" she asked.

"Yep. I'll wait out here for you. Three doors down there's a little cantina that serves food sometimes. I'm gonna see about getting the horses fed and watered." Noble's ears pricked up at the mention of food and Bart turned his attention to the gelding. "It's comin', old man. As fast as I can get it here."

Doralice saw the affection between the man and the animal and once again wondered just who her mother had sent to bring her home. Was she really free, or was this a scheme to extract what little money her mother had left? Something in the interaction of man and beast told her that she might actually be safe, at last, with this man. Whoever he was. She hurried inside.

Almost an hour later the horses had been fed and watered and Bart was back at the store waiting. The woman that finally walked outside looked a whole lot more like her portrait than the sad bedraggled being he'd rescued a few short hours ago. Not as tall as her mother, but with an elegance and grace that reminded him of his late wife, her hair fell in golden cascades down her back. The aqua eyes were considerably brighter than before, and the simple peasant clothes showcased her beauty. He offered her his arm and they walked the short distance to the cantina. As he opened the door for her, she passed in front of him and he could see the welts across her shoulder blades and back, red and angry.

It was darker in the cantina, and the smell of something delicious reached out to both of them. "When was the last time they fed you?" Bart asked the woman.

"Yesterday morning," came the answer.

They sat at a table and a Señora came over. "Dos whiskys, por favor y un montón de lo que huele tan bien."

Doralice seemed surprised. "You speak Spanish."

Bart grinned. "Si."

"Fluently."

"Si."

"And you grew up in - ?"

"Texas," he replied. "Where else?"

"Do you have a name?"

"Si." He was silent for a minute, then they both started laughing. "Bart."

"Alright, Bart. Why did my mother send you?"

"Because she thought I could bring you home. Why else?"

"You don't owe her a big gambling debt, do you?"

"Nope."

The Señora brought the whiskey over and Bart grimaced but drank it. "Why do you drink it if you don't like it?" Doralice asked.

"Because I need something to kick me awake right now. It's like taking medicine to me."

Doralice had no such problem. She downed the whiskey just as the food arrived; there was a lot of it and they were both famished. As they ate they started to get comfortable with each other and she told him about her marriage – before it got unbearable. "It was almost like my mother and father's – except I was the one that shot Sergio. My father was killed by another gambler when he tried to cheat in a poker game. I wish that had happened with Sergio; I would have been left with good memories instead of these." She held her wrists up for inspection. Now that he could see them clearly, they bore more scars than just those from the hand cuffs.

"When Sergio got drunk he got mean. Many's the night he came home and beat me. When I started to fight back he took to tying me up first. That's what he was gonna do the night I killed him."

The thought of anyone hitting a woman, much less one that looked like Doralice Donovan – it made no sense to Bart. There was nothing that justified that kind of violence. "I'm not sorry I killed him, Bart, I just wish I'd done it sooner." She clasped her hands together and set them on the table in front of her.

He reached over and covered her hands with one of his. "I'm sorry you went through that, Doralice. No one should ever hit a woman."

"That's a lesson I wish Sergio had learned before it came to – "

Noble whinnied from up the street and Bart knew it was time to leave. "We've gotta get out of here. Sooner or later somebody's bound to figure out the Texas Rangers don't have you and all hell is gonna break loose when they do." He paid for their food and drinks and they started for the door. Just as they were about to go outside horses hooves could be heard and Bart grabbed Doralice by the arm and stopped her from stepping out of the cantina. "Wait," he mouthed and peeked out the door. A Federale patrol of six or seven men had ridden down the main street and was headed out of town, back the way they'd come.

As soon as the Federales were out of sight Bart took the woman's hand and led her out into the sunlight. They hurried to the horses and mounted, leaving in the opposite direction of the police. Exhausted or not, there was no time for sleep. That would have to wait until they'd put some distance between themselves and the patrol. And they couldn't do that fast enough to suit the gambler.

Almacenar – store

Dos whiskys, por favor y un montón de lo que huele tan bien. - Two whiskys, please and a heap of what smells so good.


	19. Lack of Cooperation

Doralice

Chapter 18 – Lack of Cooperation

They rode until the sun went down, and as night fell they just kept going. Once or twice Bart caught himself with his eyes closed and he had to fight to stay awake, but they needed to get as far as they could before the sun came up.

With nothing else to do, Bart and Doralice rode side by side and told each other stories from their past to stay cognizant. Maude and Doralice had been almost everywhere after Mr. Donovan was killed and there was a yarn to go with every city or town. Bart laughed so hard when she regaled him with their last trip to New Orleans that he thought he might choke. He told her his stories as an adult to the same places she'd gone as a child. She even had a Montana story, but when it came time for Bart to relay his experiences there he told her an extremely truncated version of the whole Edgar Pike debacle.

By the time dawn came, they knew more about each other than most people that had been friends for years. Unable to keep his eyes open any longer, Bart found a semi-secluded spot among the hills and they decided to make camp. Noble gave an audible sigh when Bart dismounted, and he patted the horse affectionately. "I know, old man, I know. Me too," he told the gelding as he removed the saddle. There was some scrub brush among the hills and Bart apologized to his mount. "Sorry, you're gonna have to make do with that for right now."

Using the saddle for a pillow, Bart found he was too tired to fall asleep immediately. Doralice didn't have that problem; she was sleeping almost as soon as she lay down. He laid there for a few minutes, watching the sky get lighter and lighter and wondered what his brother was doing. Had Bret played poker last night? And then had breakfast at 'Mamie's'? Was Beau in Little Bend yet? And how was he handling Georgia's death? Hopefully better than Bart had dealt with Caroline's. Finally, he could think of her without feeling a searing pain in his belly. Doralice reminded him of the only woman who'd ever become his wife. At long last thoughts of the two women dulled his senses and he drifted off . . . . . .

XXXXXXXX

"Well, you've met everybody but Maude herself," Bret told his cousin as they stood at the bar drinking coffee. Beauregard and Bentley had gone to the 'Horseshoe' to play poker tonight, just for a change of scenery and to give 'the boys' some space. Maude was absent from her saloon all night, but around two in the morning she finally came in the back door and walked behind the bar.

"Ah, my second favorite Maverick," she laughed as she refilled both their cups.

"What, have I replaced Pappy?" Bret questioned.

"Oh – third favorite Maverick."

"I think I've been demoted. Cousin Beau, this is Maude Donovan. Maude, Beau Maverick, my second brother."

"Glad to see you back in Little Bend, Mr. Maverick. Bret told me about your wife. You have my deepest sympathies."

Bret took her hand and kissed the back of it. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Donovan. Thank you for the sentiment. I understand that you are a widow yourself?"

"You didn't tell me he was English!" Maude chastised Bret.

"That's because he isn't," Bret answered. "He spent five years in England. He was born and raised in Little Bend, just like the rest of us."

"True," Beau added. "I was banished to England as punishment."

"For what?"

"Winning a medal in the war."

"Oh my God!" Maude laughed. "Your own father sent you to England as punishment for winning a medal?"

"Not exactly," Beau answered. "It was Uncle Beauregard that banished me."

"That scalawag! Wait till he comes in here again! I'll give him no end of grief."

"Oh, please don't," Beau begged. "He'd probably send me back."

"That sounds like the Beauregard I know! Where are those rascals tonight, anyway?" the saloon owner asked.

"Wanted to smell cattle stink, I guess," Bret volunteered.

"Did you run off all my poker players?" The poker tables were mostly devoid of games, save for a very small one going back in the corner.

"Yes, Maude, my very presence is enough to put the fear of the poker gods into everyone in town," Bret said it with a straight face, but all three of them laughed.

Maude turned to Harry. "You good, Harry?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry answered.

"Gentlemen, won't you join me in my office? We can take the coffee pot with us."

"No brandy tonight, Maude?" Bret asked her.

"No sir, I have an early morning meeting. It's coffee for me tonight."

They adjourned to Maude's office, Bret opening the door for her. When Beau followed them in his attention was immediately riveted to the portrait of Doralice. He kept looking at it the whole way across the office and was still glancing at it intermittently when they sat at Maude's desk.

"Cousin Beau, have you developed an unnatural attachment to Maude's daughter?" Bret asked him.

"Hmmm? Oh, no, sorry, Bret, haven't you noticed the resemblance?"

"What resemblance, Beau?"

Beau shook his head and looked at his cousin, puzzled. "Between the woman in that portrait and the photo that Bart carries of Caroline Crawford?"

There was something vaguely familiar about the picture of Doralice Donovan, but Bret hadn't given it that much thought until this very moment. He looked up at the portrait, fascinated, and studied it carefully. By God, Beau was right. It did look like the photo Bart kept in his wallet of his late wife. In a flash it all made sense to Bret, Bart turning down the job and then reconsidering and taking it. He'd probably sat and stared at the portrait and made up his mind. He couldn't save the wife he loved, but he could save the look-alike in the portrait.

Bret sighed and put his head in his hands. "Maude," he asked, "Did my brother sit here in your office and look at that picture?"

"Well sure, Bret, it's kind of hard not to," Maude answered. Now she was the one puzzled. "What am I missing?"

"Your daughter . . . . . looks just like his wife."

XXXXXXXX

Bart woke to the smell of coffee, something he hadn't had in days. At first he thought he was dreaming, then he remembered Doralice and smiled.

"Good afternoon Mister -. I still don't know your last name."

He yawned and stretched. "Maverick," he told her.

"Good afternoon, Mister Maverick. Would you like some coffee?"

"Yes, ma'am, I certainly would. And just what epicurean delight do we have to eat?"

"We have beans and jerky or jerky and beans. Which would you like?"

"I think I'll pass on both. I'm not that hungry."

"Okay. I can live with that. Is there any place between here and the border we can get some supplies?"

"Probably at Cerralvo. We should be there in the morning if we don't see any more Federales. Maybe I can catch us a rabbit before then."

Doralice poured Bart a cup of coffee and brought it over to him. "Thanks," he said as he took it, but she lingered by his bedroll and ultimately sat on the ground.

"I'm sorry I spit on you," she offered as an apology.

"It was a good move," he told her. "The captain definitely bought it. He figured you were gonna give me a hard time, and that's just what you did."

"It was real. I didn't know who you were. You could have been sent by the Medina family. I wasn't gonna make it easy for you."

"Doralice – "

"Yes?"

He asked the question very gently, in case she didn't want to answer it. "Who gave you the welts?"

She looked away from him and didn't respond for a minute. "The captain."

"Is that why the chains and leg irons, too?"

She nodded. "I wouldn't . . . . . . co-operate with him. He would have removed them if I'd . . . . . been nicer to him."

He set the coffee cup down, then leaned over and put his arms around her and held her. She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. They sat frozen for a minute and then Bart let go of her. "We should pack up and go."

She nodded and picked up his cup. "You saddle the horses, I'll get you more coffee and put out the fire, okay?"

"Sure." He started to get up and reached out a hand to pull her up, too. "Doralice?"

"Hmmm?"

"We're gonna make it home."


	20. Luck Be a Lady Tonight

Doralice

Chapter 19 – Luck Be a Lady Tonight

"His wife?"

The words were full of anger, and doubt, and incredulity. She'd sent a married man after her daughter?

Bret corrected himself. "His late wife."

"Oh." A small sound for such a big word.

"He didn't tell you about her?"

Maude shook her head 'no.' "Not that I really gave him a chance to do that. What happened?"

"She was shot and killed by a madman." Bret gave the shortest explanation he had.

"Right in front of him," Beau added.

"How long ago?"

"Several years now. Doralice looks so much like her; I just never paid attention before."

"Bret told me Cousin Bart turned you down when you first made the offer. Did he say why he changed his mind?"

"I assumed it was the money – after what you two told me, I guess I was wrong. How long were they married?"

"Not long," Bret responded. "Just a few months."

Maude was deep in thought for a minute. "Sometimes that makes it worse." She looked from one Maverick to the other and finally said, "I'm glad you told me. It makes a lot of sense now."

"To us, too," Bret agreed. "With any luck, they'll be home soon."

Lady Luck just sat in the corner and smiled.

XXXXXXXX

Sometime during the night the horse Doralice was riding threw a shoe. By the time daylight arrived he was completely lame, and Bart had no choice but to put him down. When finished he turned to the woman with him and asked, "Can you ride bareback?"

Noble was capable of carrying both of them, but Bart would rather remove his saddle if that was what had to be done. "Sure," she answered, and Bart loosened the cinch and then took the saddle off. Noble tossed his head, pleased to be free of the confining object. Bart swung up on his horse and reached down for Doralice, pulling her up behind him. She sat close and wrapped her arms around his body, making him well aware of her presence. Within two hours they'd reached Cerralvo, and the first thing Bart did was stop at the outpost on the edge of the village. He negotiated the purchase of another mount for Doralice and a replacement saddle for Noble while the woman gathered the supplies they'd need for the next few days. When that was done, they headed down to the local cantina and ate whatever was being served for breakfast, thankful that it was something besides beans and jerky.

There was a luxury available here in Cerralvo that Bart hadn't told Doralice about, lest it not be vacant when they got there. The cantina had an absolutely tiny room for anyone who couldn't stagger or ride home after drinking; the room was unoccupied and Bart paid the small pittance necessary to use it for a day. The horses had been fed and watered, as had their riders, and the thought of at least one of them sleeping in a bed was too tempting to pass up. "You take it, I'll sleep on the floor," Bart told her.

Doralice looked at the bed if it could be called that. "I've got an idea," she offered. "Get in and move over."

Bart was too tired to protest. He did as instructed and moved to the far edge of the mattress. Doralice got in next to him and snuggled as close as she could get. He was startled at first by her willingness to lie in his arms, but it felt comforting to share her warmth and he quickly relaxed and fell asleep.

Sometime during the day Doralice turned in the bed to face him, and when he next opened his eyes, he thought for just a fleeting moment that she was Caroline. That notion passed quickly as he realized they were on the verge of sundown and it was time to get up and get back on the trail. "Doralice? Wake up, we've got to go."

"Hmmm?" was the only sound she made and snuggled closer if that was humanly possible.

"Miss Donovan! Time to go!"

"Huh? What? Oh, my!" She opened her eyes to find herself practically under his nose and quickly pulled away, almost rolling off the tiny bed. He grabbed her to stop her voluntary movement and pulled her back, leaning down to kiss her in the process. No, definitely not Caroline. Bart turned loose of her quickly and she inched off the bed and onto the dirt floor.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and she giggled.

She got up from the floor and brushed herself off. "Time to go?"

"Yes." He scooted off the bed and got to his feet hurriedly. It took just a minute to gather their belongings and exit back into the cantina, now with four or five men sitting at tables eating and drinking. He stopped at the bar long enough to pay for a small bottle of something and two tortillas filled with a delicious smelling meat. He handed her a tortilla and they ate while they hastened out the door.

Saddled, bridled and with riders firmly in place, the horses made their way down the back road and out of the village. They headed northeast, straight for the Rio Grande. The moon was bright as they rode and the night was peaceful and still and they made good time. Another day or two at the most and they would be across the border and back in Texas. No more running from the Federales. Or so he hoped.

XXXXXXXX

Beauregard had gone to bed but Ben was up and waiting for his son when 'the boys' got home. Bret said good-night and went to his room, to worry about the new information they'd come into possession of and try to devise a reasonable plan to help Bart. Beau got coffee from Lily Mae and joined his father in the comfortable chairs in front of the fireplace which was still burning this morning. They sat in silence for a long time, Beau deep in thought about his cousin and his father trying to bring up a sensitive subject.

Ben cleared his throat at last and began. "How are you, Beau? I mean how are you really, not the crap you hand out to everyone."

Beau's eyes shifted to his father after hearing the word 'crap.' "That's a funny way to put it."

Ben smiled slightly, the 'ironic' Maverick look. "I want the truth, not what you tell the world."

A resigned sigh, followed by, "I'm getting used to living with an unpleasant reality."

"That bad, eh?"

That elicited a small smile from the younger man. "Worse."

"And the biggest problem is the one person you'd share that feeling with is the one who's gone."

"Yes, among other things."

Ben reached over and put his hand on his son's arm. "It does get better, Beau."

"I'm sure it does. The question seems to be, when does that happen?"

It was a reasonable question, and Ben had to think back. "I don't remember, exactly, but somewhere five or six years after your mother died I realized I could think of her without . . . . . suffering quite so much."

"What joy. I have that to look forward to." Said sarcastically, Ben understood why his son felt that way.

"Would you trade the time you had with her if it would take away the pain?"

Quick and succinct. "No."

"Then all you can do is wait."

Another sigh, this one not small. "There's another alternative, father."

Ben looked at his son's eyes, startled by the tone of his voice. "No, there isn't."

Beau shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I can keep myself so busy that I don't have time to think about anything."

His father was relieved. "Oh. Sorry, I misunderstood."

Beau had said about all he was going to about Georgia's death, so he deftly changed the subject. "This job that Bart took, it's like he's turned into Don Quixote. And Bret wants to be his Sancho Panza. Somebody with a clear head has to go with him to keep both of them out of trouble."

Bentley smiled at that image. "And you think you're the clear-headed one?"

"Of the three of us? I certainly am."

"So when Bret figures out that he's going after his brother – "

"I'll be tagging along behind to pick up the pieces when they're done."

"Alright, son," Ben stated. "Whatever it takes to get through it. Just stay safe."

"I will. Relatively safe."


	21. The Desperate Race

Doralice

Chapter 20 – The Desperate Race

It was almost four o'clock in the morning when they began to hear the sounds. Horses whinnying, voices talking, even an occasional laugh. They were traveling through the hills in Tamaulipas, Mexico, and the noises were coming up from the valley that lay right below. Bart stopped Noble and they sat and listened for a few seconds. It was a Federale patrol, out at the time of night when patrols were never out, and they weren't that far away. Bart was picking up bits and pieces of the conversations, and he heard both "Americanos" and "Disfrazado de Policía de Texas" and knew it had finally been discovered that he was a fraud.

He looked at Doralice and put his finger to his lips. Noble stood still, without making a sound, but the other horse decided at that moment to snort and whinny, and all of the Federales heads turned as one in their direction. He pointed west and slapped Doralice's horse on the rump, and the animal took off at a gallop in that direction. Bart let out a yell and kicked Noble forward, emerging from the hills and heading north as fast as the gelding would go. The patrol likewise yelped and turned, immediately spotting Bart and following him. They'd gone about half a mile when Noble started gaining ground on the Federales, doing his best to outrun the poor tired, worn-out mounts of the police. Once it appeared that the fleeing gambler was going to elude them the guns came out and they started shooting at him.

Bart rode low on Nobles neck and kept leading them away from Doralice. He finally pulled his own Colt and fired off several rounds, hitting one of the patrol leaders and knocking him off his horse and wounding another one. He was almost out of range of their guns when he felt a searing, stinging pain in his back that burned its way through his whole body. It was the most terrible thing he'd felt since the knife wounds in Carson City, and suddenly he was gasping for breath. He knew he'd been hit, but the only thing he could do was keep riding and hope he could outrun any more bullets.

Noble was moving as if he'd found a gear he'd never used before, and Bart was clinging to the gelding's neck for dear life. Another bullet nicked his arm, but he barely felt it with the massive pain raging inside his chest. The patrol came to a halt, stopping to retrieve their fallen leader, and soon they were out of sight, lost in his horse's run for the border. He could feel the wetness spreading through his shirt and jacket as he bled, and the cloth quickly became warm and sticky.

All he could do was ride, hoping that the patrol would continue to tend to its wounded and not follow him. He finally slowed Noble to a walk and reached down tentatively to feel the spot where the bullet had emerged and he almost screamed with pain. His only thought was to keep going, riding north and hoping Doralice could avoid the Federales, circle back around and find him, although he assumed he'd be dead by the time she did so. Slumped over the front of his saddle, he tried to lay his head on Noble's neck, but the ride was just too bumpy. The gelding kept walking as long as his rider clung desperately to him and finally stopped in his tracks as Bart lost consciousness and slipped from the saddle.

The big horse turned his head back and nuzzled his friend and compatriot, now lying helplessly on the ground, not moving and barely breathing. He stayed at Bart's side and didn't budge for almost ten minutes, until the other horse he'd been riding with finally pulled up beside him. Doralice jumped down and came running, and when she got to the body on the ground she rolled him over and gasped at the amount of blood she could see on the white shirt. She tore off part of her skirt and stuffed it between his chest and the shirt, then buttoned his shirt and jacket up to help hold it in place. As the moonlight started to wane, she could barely make out a small adobe hut about twenty feet up ahead.

She grabbed her horse's reins and climbed back on, arriving quickly at the building, and found it abandoned. It was relatively clean inside, the doors blown shut long ago and most of the swirling dirt and dust kept outside. She was desperate to find a way to get Bart in here when something around the other side of the hut caught her eye, and she ran out and let out a whoop. It was a one-horse cart, and she quickly dashed out front and grabbed her horse. It took her a few minutes to get the saddle off and the cart harness on, then she jumped into the cart and drove back to the man that had saved her from hanging.

There was no other way around it, she needed him conscious to get him in the back end of the cart. Desperate to accomplish just that, she slapped him gently several times until she heard a deep-seated moan. "Bart! You have to wake up! We have to get you on your feet."

"Hmmmm? What? Dora - "

"No, no, no, no, you have to stay conscious. Bart! Listen to me. I have to get you out of here. You must get up. I can't get you in the cart by myself!"

"Can't . . . . . breathe . . . . . can't . . . . .get up."

"You have to!" she almost yelled at him. "I can't pick you up!"

"Can't . . . . "

"Yes, you must! Come on!" She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him into a sitting position. Somehow he finally understood just what she was trying to do and between the two of them and grabbing hold of Noble's stirrup they managed to get him on his feet. He leaned heavily on her and moaned again, pain radiating from his back up through his whole body and breath coming in short, desperate gasps. She got him turned slightly and he took half a step before collapsing again into the back of the cart. It was just enough.

Noble allowed her to take his reins and lead him back to the hut. Doralice untied Bart's bedroll and took it inside. An old mattress had been abandoned and she dragged it as close to the door as she could, then spread the bedroll down on it. Now the hard part. She had to get him out of the cart and onto the mattress.

"Bart. Bart, you must hear me. I can't pick you up. We have to get you inside." She turned to look at the horse and pleaded for understanding from the gelding. "Come closer, Noble. I need you to stand here so Bart can grab your stirrup again." She yanked on the reins and for some reason Noble moved closer.

"God give me strength," she said out loud and shook Bart by the left shoulder.

Again, a heartrending moan. Slowly his eyes opened and he tried to focus on her face through the pain. "Doralice?" It was a whisper, at best.

"Yes, Bart. It's me. I have to get you inside or you'll bleed to death out here. Come on, we have to get you up." She got hold of his left arm and managed again to pull him into an almost sitting position, then wrapped his hand around the saddle's stirrup and tried to help lift him. The first attempt didn't work, but the second time she was again able to get him on his feet. With strength she wasn't aware she had, she got him turned towards the door and he took one step towards the makeshift bed. She untangled his hand from the stirrup and he made another step, leaning almost solely on her shoulders. One more and he was close enough to the mattress to crash down; with a last moan and a lot of sweat he practically fell onto the blanket that was waiting for him.

He was out again before she could get down on her knees. At last she was able to able to unbutton the jacket, then the shirt, to see just how critical everything was. His shirt was soaked through, but it appeared that the material she'd torn from her skirt and the pressure of the buttoned jacket had slowed the bleeding down considerably. The hole in his chest looked like an exit wound, and she surmised that the Federale that shot him was using a rifle. Nothing else could have traveled any kind of distance and gone clean through him. From the sound of his breathing the bullet had torn through or collapsed the right lung; even unconscious his breath was coming in short, sharp gasps.

She got to her feet and went outside where the horses patiently stood and took down the saddlebags and canteen, along with her bedroll, rushing back in. She tore off more of her skirt, using part of it and the water as a way to clean the blood off as best she could. The rest would be used as a makeshift bandage. She searched the saddlebags for anything she could employ to help. To her immense relief she found that the bottle he'd bought in Cerralvo was whiskey, and she thanked God for the stroke of luck. Some of it was used to clean the wound, and she was relieved that Bart was unconscious and couldn't feel the sting. She kept the rest for painkilling purposes, when he was once again awake.

There was nothing else to be done at the moment, so she went back and unhitched her horse from the cart, then decided to try and unsaddle Noble. For once he behaved like the perfect gentleman, sensing that she was only attempting to help. There was a small corral with an old hay bale, and hoped the horses could make do. To her surprise the well pump worked; at least they had fresh water.

Inside the hut she got a fire started and emptied Bart's saddlebags, which carried all the provisions he'd bought. More beans, some tortillas, the ever present jerky, and small pieces of taffy. She almost laughed; somebody had a sweet-tooth. She found the coffee pot and the coffee and made a full pot. It would help her to stay awake during the first few critical hours.

He moaned again and she realized he was semi-conscious. He had to be in terrible pain, and she needed to get some of the whiskey down him to take the edge off. "Bart, can you hear me?"

"Yeah," came the barely audible answer.

"I want you to drink some of this whiskey. It'll help with the pain. If I help you, can you do that?"

Again, an almost impossible-to-hear reply. "Yeah."

She sat next to his head and helped lift it while she poured a small amount of the whiskey down his throat. He gagged and coughed, but she got most of it down him. His eyes stayed closed and it was difficult to tell if he was still conscious until she heard him choke out a breath and the first part of her name. "Dora – "

"Yes, Bart?"

She had to bend down to hear him. "Where?"

"Somewhere north in the desert. You collapsed almost on top of an old abandoned hut. The horses helped me get you here."

"Horses?" He was having trouble breathing again, and it wasn't easy to talk.

"You heard me right. You didn't think I could get you in here by myself, did you?"

She saw just the hint of a smile, and then he said no more. Unconscious or asleep, it didn't matter. Either way, he wouldn't feel any pain. She wondered if he'd gotten far enough away from the Federales to lose them altogether. She looked outside through the open door and saw that she'd missed sunrise and daylight had once again come to the desert. At least at this time of the year it didn't bring tremendous heat with it, and she finally opened her bedroll and placed it on the ground next to the spot where he lay. They had been so close to a clean escape before their luck ran out. Would he live long enough to make it home?

Disfrazado de Policía de Texas – Disguised as Texas State Police


	22. Heroes and Fools

Doralice

Chapter 21 – Heroes and Fools

Two days went by, then another two, and still no word from Bart or Doralice. Bret was done waiting and got up early that morning for the express purpose of packing and leaving on a search mission. He knocked softly on Beau's door and got an immediate "Come in." Beau had a travel bag packed and looked like he was ready to leave. "All set, Cousin Bret. How about you?"

"Yeah, I'm ready. Let's grab some food from Lily Mae and get out of here before our keepers wake up and try to stop us."

From behind Bret, another voice was heard. "Your keepers? Is that any way to talk about your loving fathers?"

Bret groaned. Pappy's voice, of course, but with no anger or malice in it, more like idle curiosity. "We were wondering when you two were gonna get up off your duffs and go after Bart. What took you so long?"

Bret whirled to face Pappy and discovered both fathers in the hall. "Pappy. We wanted to give Bart enough time."

"He's had enough. Something's happened and if you two are goin' you need to go now."

"That's the purpose of the packing, Uncle Beauregard," Beau interjected.

"Hmmmpf," was Pappy's only comment. "Bentley, talk to your son."

Ben stepped forward. "Beauregard, you've said enough for one morning. They're grown men, quit treating them like children."

Pappy looked suitably chastised but said nothing. Very rarely did Ben ever dispute his older brother's authority, but this seemed to be one of those times. Finally, Ben turned and walked back down the hall and downstairs to the kitchen. Beau moved past Bret and Pappy and followed his father wordlessly.

Beauregard looked at his oldest son. "What? I'm worried."

"And we're not?" Bret asked plaintively.

"I know. I don't know how else to act."

"Quit giving orders to everyone," his son suggested. "Just because you're older doesn't put you in charge, Pappy."

Alone with only his son around, Beauregard dropped the act and let his real feelings show. He was scared. "Go get him, Bret. Please. I couldn't stand it if I lost him."

Bret reached out and put his hand on his father's shoulder. "I know, Pappy, I know. I couldn't either."

XXXXXXXX

Maude was just as worried but for a reason unknown to the Mavericks. Cristian de la Torres stood in her office nervously when he gave her the news. "The Mexican government knows that your gambler was a fraud and they're none too happy with any of us right now. All I know is he got her out with no trouble and they disappeared into the desert. The last word came from a patrol that 'accidentally' ran across them in Tamaulipas and chased Maverick for a while until he shot two of their members. He may have been hit by gunfire. Doralice got away. That was two days ago. They haven't been seen since."

All the saloon owner heard was "he got her out." Her daughter was free! The word "hit" finally wormed its way into her consciousness. "What? Bart was shot? How bad, Cristian?"

"Don't know. Not even sure he WAS shot at this point. If they don't get across the border soon, Maude, they may never make it. Got any kind of a backup plan?"

"Maybe. But you won't like it. It's another Maverick."

The attorney shook his head. "Have you not heard anything I've told you? She needs to be gotten out before they recapture her."

"I've heard everything you said, Cristian. Is your buggy outside?"

"Of course it is, Maude."

"Then we need to take a ride to the Maverick ranch. Right now."

Cristian sighed. "Of course we do."

Maude and Cristian left the saloon and were getting into the buggy when Bret and Beau rode up. "Goin' somewhere?" Bret inquired.

"Out to see you two, as a matter of fact. Come inside to my office."

The Mavericks dismounted and tied their horses up. Cristian helped Maude back down from the buggy, and all four went through the saloon into Maude's office. Cristian stood behind Maude's desk and repeated what he'd just relayed to her. The further he got into the tale, the darker the look on Bret's face. He turned to his cousin. "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin', Beau?"

"Yeah. I'm thinking he was hit and they're holed up somewhere for a while."

"Yep. Me too. You ready to go?"

"Sure am."

Maude interrupted. "You're leaving right now?"

Both heads nodded. "That's what we came in to tell ya. We packed this mornin'. We'll be back when we find 'em." Bret had no doubt this was now a search and rescue mission.

"You seem so certain," Maude said.

"I am. I know my brother well, Maude. The only reason we haven't heard from him – he's wounded or dead. And I don't believe it's the latter. Either way, they're outta time. We're goin' to get the two of them."

"Okay," Maude replied. "Anything you need?"

"God speed and good weather?" Beau asked with just a trace of humor.

"My prayers for both," she offered. "Anything else?"

"Nope," Bret answered. "We're ready to go. Beau?"

"Yeah," his cousin said. And with a tip of the hat from both of them, the Mavericks got up and left Maude's office.

Cristian watched them go out through the saloon and he shook his head. "They're either heroes or fools, and I don't know which."


	23. Jackrabbits

Doralice

Chapter 22 – Jackrabbits

Doralice woke before daylight, concerned when Bart was quiet through the night. He'd begun to improve before taking a turn she didn't like and suspected was caused by an infection. For the past twenty-four hours he'd been feverish and shaky, drifting in and out of consciousness. That's why she was uneasy when she realized she'd slept an entire night without being woken.

She rested a hand on his forehead. It was still warm and sweaty, and she got up and dampened the rag that had once been wet, using water she'd pumped from the old well in the paddock next to the house. She wet the second cloth and wiped him down again, trying to provide whatever relief she could from the fever that had staked its claim on his body. There was a soft moan and she paid close attention, hoping to determine if he was awake or not. "Bart, honey, are you with me today?"

There was no immediate answer. It had been four days since she'd gotten him moved into the little adobe house and they were almost out of food – not that she'd had much luck in trying to get any down him. She was accomplishing something just by keeping water in him on a regular basis. She'd not thought about what she'd do when there was nothing left to eat. Maybe she could find her way back to Pesquería, or maybe – and then she thought, what was the use of worrying about finding her way anywhere? It was only a matter of time before some Federale patrol stumbled upon the adobe hut. The only question was would they find her alive or dead? And what about Bart? He'd risked his life to save her, and this was the thanks he got – dying in a God-forsaken hole in the middle of nowhere.

The only thing she could do was keep him as comfortable as possible and hope he was strong enough to hang on until the fever and infection could burn itself out. With nothing to do but wait to die, she drifted back off to sleep. The next time she woke it was to the sound of Bart moaning. She got up again and checked his temperature. This time he was burning up, and she rewet the rag and wiped off his face and neck. Without warning his eyes flicked open and he looked at her and smiled. "Caroline," he whispered, then his eyes closed again.

' _Caroline?'_ she thought _. 'Who's Caroline?'_ He moaned again, louder this time, and she touched the side of his face. He'd gotten shot to protect her, to draw the police off so she could get away. For some reason the touch of her hand seemed to calm him, to settle him down when nothing else did. She sat with him, hand against his face, until it became apparent that he was again asleep. She got up and re-stoked the fire, making a pot of coffee to serve as her breakfast. Then a thought came to her, and when she'd finished the coffee, she cleaned the pot and put water on to boil. She dropped a piece of jerky in the pot to try and brew some broth and wondered why she hadn't thought of it before.

When the water boiled, she removed the pot from the fire to let it steep and cool. Then she went out to check on the horses. She'd been lucky to find bales of hay stacked up against the back of the hut – at least she could keep them fed. Noble actually seemed happy to see her and came over to nuzzle. Wondering, if a horse could wonder, where Bart was.

She spent about thirty minutes outside, trying to find anything to keep her busy enough to not go in. Then the guilt got to her and she left the horses to run and roll and chase flies in the corral and returned to her 'duties' as nurse and overseer. As she bent to check on Bart, she realized his eyes were open. If he'd stay awake for a few minutes she could get some of the beef broth that she'd made down him before he died of starvation instead of infection.

"Hey, sleepy head, you going to stay awake for a while? I've got something for you to drink. I managed to make some broth that might be a nice change from water. You willing to try some?"

He didn't say anything, rather tried to smile weakly, and she took that as a 'yes.' She poured a cup of the now cooled broth and tried a swallow of it; it wasn't bad, especially for a first try. She sat down on the bedroll next to him and got her arm under his head, then raised it up far enough to give him the ability to swallow the liquid. He drank almost a full cup of it, and she was both pleased and surprised. She could get double use out of the jerky – make broth out of it for Bart and eat what was left herself. It wouldn't have much flavor by that time, but she didn't really care.

She set the cup down and lowered the arm that held his head. Maybe she could get him to drink the rest of it before he drifted off again. She looked again; his eyes were still open. "You feeling any better?" she asked.

He tried a small shake of the head and even that made him groan. "No," he whispered, and looked at her plaintively. "So tired of bein' hot," he added.

"I know, but it means you're still fightin' the infection. I wish we had some aspirin."

He tried to chuckle, and that sent him into a painful sounding coughing spasm. "Can't take it," he told her weakly.

"Why not?" she asked, surprised.

"Allergic," was the only word he could get out at the moment. He coughed again and groaned, and tried to roll a little sideways, which sent him into another coughing spasm. It seemed like a never ending circle of pain and misery. "Doctor told me not to get shot," he managed to get out from between clenched teeth, as he tried once more to shift positions slightly. "Shoulda listened to him."

Doralice laughed and then apologized. "Sorry, I can't help it. How can you be so dang funny when you're this sick?"

"Talented," he offered, almost in a whisper.

"Can I ask you a question? I mean, do you feel well enough to give me an answer?"

"Maybe."

"Who's Caroline?"

Doralice was met with dead silence and she thought for a minute that Bart had again lost consciousness. So she was a bit startled when he finally repeated the name. "Caroline?"

"Yes." Again there was no answer, so she added, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But you looked at me and called me 'Caroline.' I just wondered."

His breathing had grown louder and sounded forced and ragged. "My wife."

"Oh." Now she was the one that sat for a moment with no response. At last she asked him, "Where is she?"

"Dead."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was it recent?"

"No." As if in response to the question, he had another coughing spasm. This one was really angry sounding. He reached up and pulled the rag from his forehead and used it to cough into, and when he pulled it away from his mouth it was full of blood. "Years ago."

She reached over and took the rag from him. 'Ok, enough, this is not good. No more questions and answers. Want to try and drink the rest of this broth?"

"Uh-uh. Tired." And in just seconds he was asleep. She wasn't sure if he was worn out from coughing up blood or not eating or answering questions he didn't want to answer, and it didn't really matter. It was the blood that worried her now. She tore off another strip of cloth for a new wet rag and replaced the one he'd taken as a handkerchief. Now that the subject was on her mind, what was she going to do for food? She reached over to his gun belt, laying on her side of the bed and pulled out the Colt to examine it. It wasn't the first gun she'd ever had in her hands, but it was the first time she'd ever looked closely at one. It had a smooth and cold feel to her fingers, and she was in awe of the fact that something so small could be so deadly. Could she actually shoot something? Or someone?

There was a sudden and unexpected noise outside, and she got to her feet and walked to the open door, gun still in her hand. To her surprise it was a black-tailed jackrabbit, sitting right outside the hut. For just a moment she raised the gun and aimed, and then the rabbit looked up at her and twitched its ears, and she lowered her hand. It would have provided enough food for several days, and she couldn't bear the thought of killing it. The rabbit hopped away, its life pardoned by a tender heart.

Bart started coughing again, and Doralice went back inside. How much longer would it take for the two of them to lose the battle and die? She looked at the gun in her hands and for a moment considered using it. It would be so easy, one bullet for each of them was all that was needed. But if she couldn't kill a rabbit, how could she put a bullet into the man that had rescued and protected her? How could she put the gun up to her own temple and pull the trigger?

She walked back to the gun belt and put the Colt back in its holster. She wasn't about to use it. Not today.


	24. Beautiful Sunset

Doralice

Chapter 23 – Beautiful Sunset

There was no dawdling on this trip. They changed direction and headed southwest after Austin, obtaining fresh mounts in San Antonio and pushing on toward Mexico at a blistering pace. After hearing the story of Bart's encounter with the Federales and the potential gunshot wound there was no time to waste, and both Mavericks were pushing the limit when it came to riding versus sleeping. They headed for Zapata since Bart had been there before and was familiar with the surrounding territory. If he was on the way to the Rio Grande, that was as good a place as any to cross back into Texas.

They stopped more than once at a State Police headquarters, hoping to 'pry' information out of the rangers stationed there. So far they'd had no luck; some of the men weren't even aware that a Mexican fugitive was on the loose. Most of them had heard of the case, however, and to a man agreed that the trial and the ensuing sentence had been nothing more than a farce, an entertainment put on solely for the Medina family and bearing no relation to reality. In Las Lomitas, they finally found a ranger that had news for them, but it wasn't much different than what they'd heard before leaving Little Bend. The patrol that ran into Bart did so purely by accident; no one had seen anything of a girl with him or at any time since; Efram Benitez, the crack rifle shot of the patrol, insisted that he'd hit his target when chasing the gringo; Bart, wounded or not, had still managed to escape the patrol and disappear into the desert, probably because he had the fastest horse ever bred on the planet. Bret and Beau, assuming that Bart was still riding Noble, almost believed the last statement.

They pushed on towards Zapata. Hearing the stories that were circulating, Bret was sure that Bart and Doralice were caught in the Mexican desert, somewhere between Cerralvo and Zapata. The cousins stopped in a little town named Cullington and picked up medical supplies, just in case they were needed. Bret was worried that if they waited until Zapata to do so it might attract too much attention, and of the kind that Bart didn't need.

Finally, the two weary travelers reached the Texas town of Zapata and found a continuing lack of information about the man and woman wanted in Mexico. All of the sympathies still appeared to be on the side of the woman that had pulled the trigger; Sergio Medina had acquired quite a reputation in the states as an abusive, unpredictable man. The sentiment gave the cousins hope that, once back in Texas, neither the convicted murderer nor the man that had stolen her out from under the Federales noses would be pursued by anyone in the United States government. Not even if the Mexican government demanded extradition. Of course, that assumed someone left alive to be extradited.

Once again Bret had to use his instinct regarding the status of his brother to determine if there was a living relative still out there to pursue. After the year-long travesty in Arizona, he believed in his ability to 'feel' if Bart was alive. Either that or wishful thinking told him to push forward. It was encouraging to have someone as positive as Beau with him; sometimes Doc had been too gloomy for his own good. Beau seemed as sure as Bret that their search would not be in vain.

They spent a night in the hotel in Zapata, based on the arrival of potential information the next morning in the form of a ranger on his way back from Monterrey. The government in Mexico had all but demanded that a United States government official come to Monterrey to hear the entire travesty that had been perpetrated upon them, and the ranger had been sent as a token representative.

It seemed like an unnecessary luxury to sleep in a bed, considering the goal of their quest, but sleep they did, and Bret was up the next morning at the State Police office when the ranger rode back into town. Since even the Captain wasn't in yet, Bret was able to persuade the man to join him for breakfast.

Halfway through the meal Ranger Jed Tatum stopped relating the story the Mexican government had handed him and asked Bret, "It was really your brother Bart? And he's never been in law enforcement?"

Bret laughed. "Oh, he's been WELL acquainted with the law, but never a part of it before. Why do you ask?"

Tatum had to laugh, too. "Because the Federales were positive that he was really a ranger. Evidently his impersonation was that good."

Maverick thought about his brother's total assumption of Doc Holliday's personality during the Arizona debacle. "I've no doubt he was quite convincing. But do you know anything further about the skirmish with the patrol or the aftermath? Did he really catch a bullet or is that another tall tale?"

"No, I'm afraid that part appears to be true, Mr. Maverick. The patrol sent a rider after the tracks, and he followed them until he lost them, about a mile away. There was quite a trail of blood visible. If your brother's still alive, he left a lot of his blood in the Mexican desert."

"Do you have an approximate location, Ranger Tatum?" Now that became the most important piece of information Bret could obtain.

"About 25 miles south of the border, in a straight line from Cerralvo to Zapata. Evidently this is where he was headed when he was shot."

"Seems reasonable. He spent some time down this way several years back. Got to know the terrain pretty well. Any little towns along the way that aren't there anymore?"

"You mean like dried up and gone? There was one some years ago - a tiny place named Hermosa Puesta de sol – it was right by a lake. I know, a lake in the desert? But there it was, right out in the middle of nowhere. The story is that the banditos came through and killed everyone, and nobody else was crazy enough to go back and settle there again. There could still be some adobe huts standing. You think he might have gone there?"

"Possibly. Sounds like a good place to start. And you're sure that the Texas and the United States governments have no intention of pursuing either the murder conviction or the escape? Both of them are in the clear if we can get them back across the border?"

"Completely. The U.S. attorneys did everything in their power to discourage Mexico from prosecuting Mrs. Medina. There's no way they'll allow a case to go forward against her or your brother if they're in Texas."

Bret reached over and shook Tatum's hand. It was the first time a lawman had given him the best possible news. "Thanks, Ranger. That's what I needed to know."

He paid for their breakfast and went back upstairs to hurriedly pack. He found Beau already up and waiting for him, ready to go. "Cousin Beau, I may have found him. But he was definitely shot. We need to do this as fast as possible."

"Ready when you are, Cousin Bret. Let's go bring the outlaw home."

Hermosa puesta de sol – Beautiful sunset


	25. Painful Reminders

Doralice

Chapter 24 – Painful Reminders

It was pitch black and he had no idea what the time was, or even the day of the week. There was a burning in his back and chest like nothing he'd ever felt, and his whole mouth and throat was raw and inflamed. He was laying on his back and he tried to roll sideways, hoping that the pain would stop. It didn't. He began to cough and choke, and he knew instantly why his throat hurt. There was a damp cloth on his forehead and he reached for it, to wipe the wetness from his face that he thought was spit but couldn't see in the dark was actually blood.

Every breath hurt, with an intensity that made him dizzy. In the blackness he could barely see the outline of a cup next to his head and he picked it up. It was full of something and it didn't matter to him what it was; he was so thirsty he would have drunk anything. It had no taste; he assumed it to be water. He was cold and shaking, but there was no blanket. There was a jacket folded up on the ground next to him just within reach and he grabbed for it. Straining to put it over his body caused more pain, but it provided a little warmth.

There was a woman next to him on a blanket asleep, and he couldn't tell who it was. She was blonde; the paleness of her hair shone in the tiny amount of light that his eyes had adjusted to. Caroline? No, she was long since dead. Amy? She was hundreds of miles away, in Arizona. After struggling for a minute it came to him – Doralice. He tried to reach out and touch her, but it seemed like the more he tried the further away she got. After several minutes his fingers reached her face, and he ran those fingers down until he found her lips.

Just as he touched those lips she jumped, finally aware of his tentative probing. In the dark she found her voice and asked, "Bart?" He shivered again, fiercely, and she was awake and up in an instant. "What do you need?"

"C..c..c..cold," he continued to shake so hard that he couldn't get the word out. She reached over to feel his forehead and was startled to discover the change in his temperature. There was no full blanket, only the bedroll, but she stood up and pulled it out from under her, wrapping it as tightly around him as she could. It didn't help much; he needed bodily warmth more than anything. She knew what to do; if he could move on the old mattress just a bit, she would lie next to him and give him her own body heat.

"Come on, Bart, you have to move over a little," she told him and did her best to help him do just that. He groaned with pain as he tried to move but was eventually able to scoot a few inches to the left. It was just enough, and she picked up the blanket and lay down next to him, as close as she could get while not disturbing the rifle wounds. He did his best to wrap her up in his arms and she threw the blanket over them. He continued to shake for a few minutes, but eventually her body began to warm his and they were both able to go back to sleep.

The next time he woke it was daylight, and she was gone. He threw off the blanket as best he could. The fever was back and it was raging. He was thirsty again and looked to ensure that the cup was there; it wasn't. He could see the canteen over by the door; Doralice must have filled it and set it inside.

He waited for a few minutes to see if she returned and when she didn't he decided that thirst was more critical than pain and did his best to sit up. He was persistent and finally managed an upright position, then all he had to do was crawl about four feet to get the canteen. That four feet took him almost an hour, and he was exhausted and in miserable pain by the time he accomplished his goal. But the canteen was full and he drank until he could drink no more, then decided to stay right where he was until the girl came back. What was her name again?

He leaned against the adobe wall and winced. His chest hurt as if he'd been shot. Oh wait, he had been. When did that happen? Just where was he? Mexico, the crumbling adobe wall that he could see told him. Where was Caroline? She was dead, his mind answered again, and he'd run away to Mexico to escape the grim reality of her death. No, that wasn't right. That had happened long ago. He was here –

He was where? Then he remembered the cantina in Pesqueria, and the tiny sleeping room in Cerralvo, and that she was Doralice Donovan Medina, and not Caroline Crawford. The effort of crawling for the canteen overcame him, and he let the fever take him back into unconsciousness, leaning up against the adobe wall, while Doralice hunted desperately for anything that could serve as food.

XXXXXXXX

It was night again, but Bret didn't know what day it was. He'd lost track sometime after they left Little Bend, and right now all he could think of was finding his brother. Beau finally pulled up alongside him and grabbed Bret's reins. "C mon, Cousin, you have to get some sleep. It won't do Bart any good if we miss him because you're too tired to see straight."

Bret started to protest, but he knew Beau was right. He'd pushed himself day and night, far past his ability to go without sleep, and he was way beyond exhausted. So when Beau grabbed the reins from him, he submissively sat on his horse and let his cousin lead him to a suitable spot to camp for the remainder of the night. He remained astride his mount until Beau tied the horses up and he could safely slip down without getting walked on. He was groggy and sleep-deprived, and no longer thinking straight. He should keep going to find his brother – he had a feeling it better be soon or it would be too late.

No matter what his mind told him his body demanded sleep. He started to unsaddle his horse and Beau walked up behind him and took him by the arm. "Just come sit over here, Cousin Bret. I'll unsaddle the horses." He guided Bret over to a rock and sat him down, then went back to the mounts. Bret knew there was no use arguing, it was rather like Pappy's reaction to Ben speaking up. Best to just go along with and not argue. Besides, he was too tired to argue.

In just a few minutes the horses were unsaddled and Bret's bedroll spread. He managed to get off the rock and lay down, closing his eyes and drifting into sleep almost immediately. Once again he dreamt, but it was an odd dream, and all he remembered was riding his horse, chasing his brother as if his life depended on it and he was unable to catch Bart.

When he woke he could smell the coffee and the sun was up. Daylight shone brightly in his eyes, and he knew it was late compared to the hour they had been rising at. He pulled out his pocket watch and looked at the time. Almost ten o'clock. "BEAU!"

"You don't have to yell, Bret, I'm right here. You want some coffee?"

Bret started to say something else and then bit his tongue. Beau had only done what he thought was best, there was no sense getting all hostile to him. "Yes, please," he answered.

"You're not gonna yell and scream?" Beau asked.

"Do I look like my father?"

"Yes, you do, but you don't act like him, thank God. How do you feel this morning?"

Bret yawned. "Like I'm gonna live, whether I want to or not."

Beau handed him a full cup. 'Here, drink this. I'll saddle the horses."

"Thanks, Cousin."

Beau smiled. "I want to find him too, you know."

Bret nodded, agreeing with Beau's statement. "I know you do." Bret drank the coffee as fast as he could, given how hot it was, and moved the coffee pot before he kicked dirt on the fire to put it out.

"We're almost there, Beau. We have to find him today."

"We will."

"If we don't – "

"We will, Bret."

"What if – "

Beau shook his head. "Uh-uh. None of that. We'll be in time. Finish your coffee."

Bret smiled a sly smile. "Yes, Pappy."


	26. Lost No More

Doralice

Chapter 25 – Lost No More

No luck finding any kind of food, and when she returned to the small house she was depressed. She was more than fifteen feet away when she saw through the front door to the mattress that should have held a wounded Bart and found it empty. She took off running.

Doralice was at the door when she looked down and found him collapsed against the wall, just inside the door frame. "How in the world – " was out of her mouth before she saw what rested in his lap – the canteen. "Oh, my!" was all she could say, realizing that it was her fault for leaving the container by the door instead of taking it inside. She bent to retrieve it and brushed his hand, then hurriedly felt his forehead. The fever was broken at last!

His eyes opened and there was recognition in them. "Doralice."

"I'm sorry I was gone for so long and left the canteen over here. But your fever broke! Do you feel any better?"

"Not hot," he mumbled in response to her question.

"How did you get over here?"

"Crawled," he replied.

"You crawled? I'm so sorry, Bart. We need to get you back over to the bed. Can we get you up?"

"Don't know," with a shake of the head. "Maybe."

At least he was already in a 'sitting' position. She grabbed his left arm and tried to pull him up with sheer strength. That wasn't going to work. Then she got down next to him on the ground and draped his arm over her shoulders. After more than a few minutes of struggling she was able to get him on his feet; still leaning against the wall, but on his feet. "Careful now, just lean on me," she reminded him, although the reminder really wasn't necessary. He was nowhere near well enough to stand on his own two feet without a lot of help.

They took a shaky step, then another, and finally a third before his legs gave out and he started to fall forward. The mattress took most of his weight and, even though it was reasonably thin, prevented more serious injury than just bruises. She fell with him but managed to push herself away at the last few seconds, and avoided falling on top of him. "I think that's enough exercise for today," she laughed and even heard him chuckle slightly. "Are you alright?"

She leaned over him and looked down into his eyes and saw the man that had set her free for the first time in days. Before she had a moment to think about what she was doing, she'd kissed him and saw the surprise register in those eyes. "Sorry," she giggled, and then kissed him again.

"What was that?" he murmured as she pulled away.

"It was a 'welcome back' kiss," she explained, still giggling.

"Welcome back? How long has it been - ?" She didn't let him finish.

"Over a week."

"Oh." She scrambled to sit up and pulled the bedroll blanket up around him. "Is there any food left?"

She shook her head. "No, that's why I was gone. I was out looking for something. Anything. I saw a rabbit a few days ago, but I couldn't kill it."

He wasn't surprised. He couldn't begin to imagine how very frightened she must have been of Sergio Medina, to be able to pull the trigger and shoot him. And yet they were out of food and she couldn't kill a rabbit.

"When did you run out?"

"Last night," she lied. He didn't need to know it was yesterday morning that she'd had the last of the jerky, after making a full pot of broth for him. Suddenly there was a plaintive whinny from outside and both turned their heads toward the door.

"Noble. Somthin's out there."

There was the sound of horses hooves and she feared the worst. The Federales had finally stumbled across them. She held her breath for what seemed like an eternity until she heard a Texas voice call out, "Bart!"

XXXXXXXX

They'd been riding for over an hour and were running out of places to look. They should have found the remnants of 'Beautiful Sunset' by now, yet there was nothing even close to a building of any kind or shape visible. "Maybe we went the wrong way," Beau offered.

"Nope, no chance of that. There's nothin' here, Beau." Bret had never felt this unsure, even when he was searching endlessly for Bart in Arizona.

"There's hills just south of us, Bret." Beau turned around and pointed, and Bret followed his gaze. He hadn't paid any attention to the little hills that dotted the landscape to the south. He squinted in the sun but kept trying to see if there was anything that way besides the slight mounds that were almost big enough to be called hills. Just when he was about to turn his head something caught his eye.

"Beau, you're brilliant. Let's go," and without waiting to see if his cousin followed him, Bret headed his horse south and took off at a gallop.

In less than five minutes the little adobe hut came into view, followed quickly by a small corral with two horses in it. As they got closer, Bret could see that one of the animals was Noble. As soon as they were within shouting distance Bret let loose with a yell. "Bart!"

Within a minute Maude's painting, a little older and thinner, came to life in front of their very eyes. And she was pointing a gun at them. Bart's gun!

"Hold it right there, boys, and don't get off the horses. Who are you and what do you want?"

"Bart! Bret! I mean, I'm Bret, Bret Maverick, Bart's brother. This is his cousin, Beau. Tell me he's alive. Please tell me he's alive."

Bret's horse pranced and jumped around, as rattled as his rider at this exact moment.

Doralice stayed calm and kept the gun trained on the one that claimed to be Bart's brother. Without turning back into the house she asked, "Do you have a brother named Bret?" She must have gotten an affirmative answer because she had a request. "Describe him to me."

Bret could hear a voice, but it was too weak to be identified beyond a doubt as Bart's. Whatever the description, it caused Doralice to laugh and she lowered the gun. "Yeah, that's him."

Bret was down off his horse faster than he thought possible, with Beau not far behind. He ran into the little adobe structure, right past the girl at the door, and let out a whoop as soon as he saw Bart lying on the old, discarded mattress. He ran immediately to his brother and dropped to his knees, scooping Bart up in his arms and straight into a giant bear-hug that elicited a painful "Ouch!" from the recipient. It was only then that Bret saw the dried blood on the shirt and laid Bart back down on the makeshift bed as gently as he could. Beau, two steps behind, found the ground on the other side of his cousin and ruffled his hair, knowing that Bart hated that and being so happy to see him alive that Beau didn't care.

"I guess they are relatives," Doralice commented, and Bret turned towards her.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Medina, we were so excited to find you two and this rascal alive, that we forgot our manners. I obviously am Bret Maverick, Bart's brother, and this is Beau, our cousin."

Very softly from the ground came an unsolicited comment. "OLDER brother."

Bret was so happy to have found Bart at last that even he laughed at the remark. Now that he'd introduced them, his next question was aimed squarely at the man lying on the floor. "What happened?"

"I got in the way of a rifle," and between the excitement and the extended talking Bart went into a coughing spasm that ended with another cloth full of blood in his hands.

Bret took one look at the bloody substitute handkerchief and took it out of Bart's hands, to be replaced by Bret's own handkerchief. He looked at Doralice with worried eyes. "How long has that been going on?"

"Several days," she informed him. "His fever just broke this morning."

"He had a fever? How long?"

"For over a week. Listen, do you have any food? We ran out of food yesterday."

"You haven't eaten since then?"

Doralice sounded defensive. "Bart had broth that I made from the jerky."

Bret shook his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'll get you something." Bret got up and went outside to get the supplies, including the medical paraphernalia they're brought from Cullington.

Doralice looked at their cousin, who was sitting quietly with his hand on Bart's shoulder. "You haven't said much."

Beau shook his head. "Sometimes it's hard to get a word in when Bret's in take-charge mode. He means well. How are you? Any war wounds of your own?"

"No, I'm okay. All because of Bart. I'd have been long gone by now if he hadn't come and gotten me out."

"Yes, and the Federales and the Mexican government are none too happy about that. They want you returned to them for hanging. No doubt Bart too, by this time. Don't worry, it isn't going to happen. The state of Texas and the United States government want no part of it."

Doralice sighed with relief just as Bret came rushing back with his arms and saddlebags full. "I just brought everything," he told her. "Take what you want." Then he looked at his brother. "What do you need?"

Bart found his voice. "Anything that isn't broth," he told Bret, who immediately handed him some kind of fruit and a chunk of bread.

"Here, keep yourself busy with this for right now. I want to take a look at the wound." Bret peeled back the bloodstained shirt and examined the exit wound, which was angry and swollen. "This is gonna bite, son," he informed his brother, and proceeded to clean the wound and all around it with some kind of solution he'd picked up from a local doctor in the town.

"Youch!" Bart yelped, and Doralice took the half-eaten food from him. "Be careful, would ya?"

"Sorry," came the reply. "Can you turn over? Or at least on your side? I wanna see the entry wound."

Bart looked up at Beau. "A little help, cousin?"

Beau provided the leverage Bart needed and got him rolled onto his side. Then moved out of the way so Bret could clean the entry wound and try to get bandages on everything. Even though Bart's fever was gone there were still plenty of signs of the infection, and the last thing he needed was a recurrence.

Within a short time everything was done; Bart was even wearing a different shirt. Still lying on the makeshift bed, he looked up at Bret appreciatively. "I guess big brothers are good for something after all, huh?"

Nothing could upset Bret right now. He'd found his brother, again, and he was damaged but alive. "I think we need to get out of here as soon as possible. Before the Federales actually find us. Bart, can you ride at all?"

"Don't know, Bret, today was the first time I was on my feet in over a week."

"There's a cart outside, Bret, that you can use. That's how I got Bart here. A horse harness, too."

Bret smiled. This girl was just full of surprises. "Good. We'll try riding, but if that doesn't work, we can fall back and use the cart. That might make us sitting ducks, but we'll take the chance. Let's try and go at dusk. Sleep might be the best thing for everybody until then if you can sleep."

Beau went out and got the bedrolls off their saddles and Doralice moved hers over by the wall so that his relatives could keep an eye on Bart. It appeared her nursing duties were over, and she was happy to relinquish them.

The bedrolls were placed one on either side of the injured man, with Bret on the right and Beau on the left. Soon all three Mavericks were sound asleep, with Bret's hand on Bart's arm. He'd finally gotten his brother back and he wasn't about to turn loose of him anytime soon.


	27. Two More Nights

Doralice

Chapter 26 – Two More Nights

It was sheer heaven to eat a meal, a full meal, and not have to save some of it for the next day. Doralice thought she had never tasted anything quite so good as the food they had just before packing up and getting ready to leave the place that had almost become home. The horses were readied but when Bret and Beau tried to get Bart on his feet it became apparent he couldn't ride. Doralice's horse was unsaddled and once again hitched up to the small cart.

The bedrolls were used to provide what little comfort they could. Bart rode sitting up in the back; though uncomfortable, it was easier than trying to lay flat. Noble was tethered to the back and seemed quite content since Bart was in his line of sight. They got started just a bit after dusk, hoping to avoid any Federales that might be out on patrol. It was slower going than Bret would have liked, but with Bart unable to sit a horse it was the best they could do.

It was a bittersweet departure for Doralice; the hut had been both a sanctuary and a prison for her. Bart had no such conflicting emotions, he was glad to see the last of the place that had sheltered them in their desperate flight to freedom. All it held for him were memories of pain and misery. They made camp as dawn broke and decided to leave a bit earlier that night. How wonderful to eat breakfast and drink coffee, and then have the luxury of a second cup of coffee. The two fugitives had forgotten what it felt like to go to sleep with a full belly.

Bart woke first, or so he thought; he even managed to sit up with a minor struggle. Bret had cleaned his wounds and changed the bandages again before laying down, and while the bullet holes themselves were still painful, some of the soreness was gone from his chest and back. And the coughing that had almost become part of his daily routine receded, taking most of the bleeding with it. He felt better than he had since he was shot.

Beau woke next, and it was he who noticed that Bret was gone. Bart and Beau looked at each other as if to say "Aw, not again," both thinking of the disappearance the last time they'd been in Mexico together.

"Not jumpin' on a horse and chasin' him down like I did the last time," Bart stated, and Beau agreed with him.

"Nor am I," came the reply from his cousin. "But I will put some coffee on."

Doralice was the last to wake, and she came over to see how Bart was feeling. "Any better?" she asked him.

"Actually, yeah," he told her. "I do feel better. Like I might live. Might."

"Good, you had me worried there for a while."

"Doralice."

"Yes, Bart?"

He wanted a few minutes to talk to her and now worked as well as any other. "Thanks for taking care of me. You didn't have to do that."

She wanted to laugh, but he was so serious that she didn't dare. "Thanks for saving me from the hangman."

He shook his head. He wanted to make her understand how truly grateful he was. "I got paid for doing that. You didn't."

"And I understand you didn't keep the money."

"No, I didn't. I left it for Bret, just in case something happened and I didn't come back. But you did it out of the goodness of your heart."

Now she did laugh. "No, I didn't. I took care of you because I was afraid if you died, I'd die. Pure selfishness."

"Survival instinct."

"Bart, you saved my life. I'd be dead if it weren't for you. And all I did for you was almost get you killed."

"Looks like we've got a Mexican stand-off going."

"Please. Once I'm back in Texas, I never want to hear the word Mexico again."

"Ok. I give up. Let's just call it even and let it go."

"You've got a deal. Shake on it."

She put her hand out to shake and he pulled her down to his level. "I've got a better idea," he told her, and he kissed her. Just then Bret rode up and interrupted them.

"I can tell you're feelin' better, little brother." Bret got down off his horse and brought four canteens full of water with him. "I went out huntin' for that lake we heard about."

Beau walked up with a full cup of coffee. "Looks like you found it, Cousin."

Bret nodded his agreement and took the coffee. "Thanks. Yeah, I did. I found somethin' we weren't lookin' for, too. A patrol, out searchin' for us, no doubt. Let's get it together and get out of here."

"Hey, Bret," Bart called. "Come over here and help me get up."

"We tried this before, son," Bret pointed out to his brother.

"That was yesterday," came the reply.

Bret handed the coffee cup back to Beau and reached down to help his brother. This time Bart got to his feet with a modicum of difficulty. He was still unsteady, but Brett turned loose of him and he stood on his own. For about thirty seconds before his legs gave out again and Bret had to grab him to keep him from falling.

"Hey, that's an improvement. Another week and you might be able to walk," Beau predicted.

"Very funny, Cousin," Bart responded. "That's the point. I think I can ride. And if you," he looked at Bret, "saw a patrol, we're gonna need to get away fast. We can't do that pulling a cart. Somebody saddle Noble for me. We'll leave the cart here."

"You know once we do that you're gonna hafta ride the rest of the way, at least into Texas."

"Yeah, I know," Bart answered. "Quit talkin' and saddle the old man."

Doralice reached out and grabbed Bart's arm, partially to stop his swaying and partially to get his attention. "Are you sure? What if you can't do it?"

"I will, that's all. I have to."

Bret called from the rope line, "Okay, Brother Bart, he's saddled. Let's see if you can walk over here."

"Want help?" Doralice asked.

"Just stay close," Bart requested.

He took a step and stayed upright, then another. He wobbled on the third but caught himself. Then two more, and he stopped for a minute to rebalance. The last one was more of a stagger than a step, but he ended up at Noble's side anyway. "Okay, this I need help with."

Bret came over and helped him up in the saddle. Once he was on Noble's back it felt odd at first, but right at the same time. He was handed the reins by his brother and he walked his horse around the camp sight. His chest and back were sore and hurt, but there wasn't a lot of difference between the strain put on him in the cart and the strain here. Beau poured the rest of his coffee on the fire and mounted. Then Doralice and finally Bret remounted. They headed out, slightly northeast in order to go around the patrol without being seen. They stayed on that course until sometime after midnight, then adjusted their path and headed straight north.

With any luck at all they had two more nights in Mexico, and then Texas. Could their luck hold out for two more nights? Bret didn't know it, but the same silent prayer he was saying was repeated, in essence, by every member of the group.


	28. We Can See the Rio Grande

Doralice

Chapter 27 – We Can See the Rio Grande

It was difficult, painful and aggravating, at best, but every evening when they got ready to ride, Bart gritted his teeth and got back on his horse. There was no other choice if they were ever to return to Texas. Nobody spoke of it, but Bret could see the misery every time he looked at Bart. He and Beau tended to ride together at the head of the little group, and they'd scrupulously avoided the subject until the third night of the journey. Finally the cousins could stand silence on the subject no longer, and Bart became the topic of concern.

"Has he said anything to you?" Bret asked his riding companion.

"Nope, not a word. Not even when we're alone together."

"It must be bad, then," came the reply. That had become Bart's primary course of action – when the going got tough, he got silent. The silence worried Bret even more.

"You think he's gonna make it?" Beau asked.

"What other choice is there? He's not about to tell us he can't ride anymore." Bret glanced back at his brother, the very embodiment of stubborn. Bart would finish the ride into Texas, even if it killed him. Which is what Bret worried about more than anything. How many times could his brother escape the grim reaper's wrath?

"Once we get past Zapata we can get a decent wagon and get him off Noble, ya know. That would help." Beau was a master of stating the obvious, but he'd always been that way.

"Yep. And he probably wouldn't ride in it, out of pure orneriness. Maybe we can convince him Doralice would be more comfortable in a wagon. Or a buggy. Anything to get him off that horse."

"Speaking of Doralice, how close have those two gotten?" Bret was the dimpled charmer of the brothers, but Bart attracted more than his fair share of women. One look at the gallant, smiling hat-tipper and they were lost in those dark brown eyes, so expressive.

"I don't think this is as serious as we were afraid it'd be. The way she looks like Caroline – maybe that's the problem. She looks too much like Caroline. He saved her from the gallows - now he feels disloyal whenever he looks at her. Who knows? I could be totally wrong. Sure am glad she's who she is, though. She saved his life, the way she took care of him. Reminds me a lot of Amy Stanhope, all protective like. I guess it's time for me to shut up, huh?"

Beau had been smiling, listening to his cousin prattle on, and now he laughed. "You do tend to go on sometimes, cousin."

A loud laugh came from the woman riding with his brother, and Bret smiled himself. "It's good to hear laughter out of those two. They've been through enough. Maybe they can have some peace now."

"So what did you do after that?" Doralice asked Bart in all seriousness.

"Threw it back in and went home," he answered, and she laughed, a loud, joyous sound.

"You two had quite a time growing up, didn't you?"

"Not just us. Cousin Beau was always part of it. Most of the time we had a friend named Fred Taylor that was with us, too. Ole Fred was the wildest of the bunch, there wasn't much he wouldn't do. Now he's married and settled down and runnin' his father's cattle ranch. Happens to most everybody, I guess."

"But you and your brother."

"Oh no, not again. I know better now. Too much movin' around for a woman to take to. I was surprised that Beau tried it, but he seemed to do alright. I don't know what he's gonna do now that she's gone. But then Georgia was a very special lady. One of a kind, I guess you could say."

"Your wife – your Caroline – what was she like?"

Bart thought for a minute. There was a time he wouldn't have been willing to give Doralice an answer – it was too agonizing to even think about. Sometime in the last few years that time had passed and there were good memories, rather than just painful ones. "She was like a warm spring day in heaven."

Doralice grew quiet. How do you compete with a memory like that? Good thing she'd decided not to. Bart was everything a girl could want in a man – handsome, charming, funny, gallant, dependable, and would compare every woman he met to the one he'd lost. Nope, she was through with marriage and getting emotionally involved with a man – at least for the foreseeable future. Maybe Maude had the right idea after all – flirt, kiss, laugh and enjoy yourself – and the moment they got serious, bid them "Adios!"

They had just ridden past another little set of desert hills and none of the four was paying much attention – so when the whooping and hollering started, they were taken completely by surprise. The Federale troop came roaring out from the far side of the hills and it took a moment for the Maverick caravan to kick itself into gear and run for their lives. In less than one hundred yards Noble had taken the lead and was running away from the rest of the group – no wonder the only bullet that could catch his rider in the previous chase was from a rifle.

Bret made a half-circle back to Doralice and rode behind her, intentionally drawing fire from the patrol so she would be safe. He and Beau returned fire as they rode and continued to push the girl ahead of them. Bart was doing all he could to stay in the saddle - between Noble's speed when forced and the pain and difficulty of the previous bullet wounds he had his hands full. Slowly the superiority of the groups mounts outdistanced the police horses, and the Federales didn't stand a chance.

Bret slowed his horse down to a canter until he looked ahead and realized that Noble had once again come to a dead halt. The reason was quickly apparent - Bart had been unable to hold on towards the end of the wild ride and slid off his horse, landing in a heap on the ground. Bret dug his heels in and his horse jumped, resuming a full gallop until he reached his brother.

Bret was down off his own horse and in the process of turning Bart over when Beau and Doralice got there. Bart's eyes flickered and he moaned, then coughed and almost laughed. "Just for old time's sake?" he questioned before going into another coughing spasm. Whether it was the wild ride or the fall or a combination of the two, Bret looked and saw that fresh blood was staining Bart's shirt

"Damn," Bret muttered through clenched teeth. "Doralice!" he yelled, before realizing that she was right beside him on the ground, now with Bart's unconscious head in her lap. "I need some more of your skirt for a rag to stop the bleeding until we can get him re-bandaged." She nodded and tore off another piece of fabric. Bret repeated what she'd done that first night, unbuttoning his shirt and stuffing it as full of material as he could, then re-buttoning the shirt and using the pressure as a compress to stem the blood flow.

"Beau, get the saddle off Noble. We gotta get him outta here." Beau hurried down off his horse and unsaddled Bart's, Noble standing stock still as the men worked around him. With Beau's help, Bret got Bart back up on his horse, slung over Noble in the classic 'dead-man carry.' He started to lead the horse behind him when Doralice stopped the older brother.

"Give me a lift up on Noble. I can help hold him."

"He won't let you up. The damn horse is as stubborn as Bart."

"Yes, he will. I've ridden him before."

"This I gotta see." Bret lifted Doralice up on Noble's back, and the horse snorted but stayed still. "Let's go," Bret directed, and the caravan once again resumed movement, albeit at a slower pace.

When dawn came they kept riding, and within another hour they were finally at the Rio Grande. Bret wanted to cross the river, but not with Bart unconscious. Whether it was advisable or not, they camped on the Mexican side of the river and waited for Bart to wake up, hoping against hope that they were done with the Federales.

Bret and Beau got Bart off the horse, then laid him down on the bedroll they'd saved when they discarded the saddle. Bret got the bleeding stopped again and re-bandaged his brother, while Beau made a fire, followed by coffee and food. Doralice helped wherever she could, and Bret left her with Bart when he went to get coffee. Thus, she was the first person Bart saw when he finally started to come around from his latest bout of unconsciousness.

"Aw, it's you again," he murmured when he managed to open his eyes.

"Who did you expect? A lovely Mexican policeman waiting to greet you?"

"An angel."

"No such luck. C'mon, if you'd wake up, we could cross into Texas."

"Really?" he asked.

"Really," she answered. "Bret, he's awake."

His brother hurried over. "Well, you were right. We'd never have outrun them with a cart."

"See? Aren't you glad I was on horseback?" His voice was weak but his eyes were dancing, clearly amused.

"Except you could have stayed that way."

"What? What does that mean?"

"You don't remember?" Bret wasn't really surprised. Bart had probably blacked out before the fall.

"No. What?"

"The ride was too much. Noble dumped you and you passed out."

"How'd I get here?"

Bret chuckled. "Ever play dead before?"

"No. Really?" Bart couldn't think of a more inglorious way to arrive anywhere.

"Yeah really, Brother Bart. That's why we're still on this side. I wasn't crossin' until you were with us. "

Bart coughed but no blood this time. "Well, I'm here. Let's go – " and he made the mistake of trying to sit up. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow," was the next thing that came out of his mouth.

"Lay still," Bret insisted, and for once Bart listened to him. "You're not goin' anywhere right now."

"No."

"As long as nobody comes after us, it'll wait till you feel better."

"Then send Doralice across now. Don't take any chances."

The lady herself spoke up. "No. I'm not going across without you."

Bart sighed. Even that hurt. "Tomorrow morning. No matter what."

Bret nodded in agreement. "As long as you can ride it."

"Ride it? Bret, I can walk it."

"And lose you in the river? No sir, I'm not takin' any chances. It's ride or nothin'."

"Yes, Pappy."

For once Bret completely agreed with him. "That's my boy."


	29. Home

Doralice

Chapter 28 – Home

Four horses stood at the river, waiting to wade into the knee deep water. Four riders sat on those horses, each with different thoughts about the potential crossing. They ranged from ' _My God, at last, Texas!'_ to _'Thank you God, for bringin' us back safe,'_ to _'Nothin's ever looked as good,'_ to the simple _'Home.'_ They looked up and down the river, waiting to make sure there were no Federales or Texas State Police or even, God forbid, United States Federal Marshals. When all they saw was the river, and Texas on the other side of it, they started across.

Within a few minutes, Mexico would be nothing more than a memory, a mission of rescue and redemption. One rode across the river bareback, having given his saddle to his younger brother to ascertain an easier journey. One rode with a heavy heart, having just buried the love of his life, into an unknown future. One rode away from the hangman's noose, an unfairly imposed sentence for self-defense. One rode back to a life of uncertainty and promise, knowing that he'd finally saved someone from a death they didn't deserve.

They rode into Zapata, straight to the telegraph office, and sent two wires. The first was to Maude Donovan at 'Maude's' in Little Bend, Texas, and said:

 _Back in Texas_

 _Safe and home soon_

 _Maverick_

The second was to Beauregard Maverick, also in Little Bend. It read:

 _Coming home_

 _All safe_

 _Bret, Bart, and Beau_

The doctor in Zapata looked over Bart's slowly healing gunshot wounds and pronounced him "as fit as could be expected" and prescribed rest and inactivity, then cleaned and bandaged everything and had the audacity to charge five dollars for his consultation. Doralice got to take a bath and wash her hair, then put on a brand new dress and shoes and dazzled everyone who saw her.

Bret and Beau sat down and had a decent cup of coffee that neither of them made, then smoked a good cigar and paid the hotel for two tubs of hot water. Bart went to his hotel room and laid down, so happy that he finally had a real bed to sleep in that all he wanted to do was lay on it and smile. Then he made the hotel clerk crazy by ordering and luxuriating in the fourth bath that had to be drawn that night.

Breakfast was almost like heaven. Bacon, eggs, biscuits, coffee, and nobody had to cook it. They debated the merits of a wagon versus a buggy and finally decided the wagon would be better, in case riding got to be too difficult for Bart, who was still in pain and needed to heal. While everyone packed what little they had and paid for their rooms, Bret went to the livery and bought a wagon and harnesses, then hitched up Doralice and Beau's horses to the wagon and saddled his own. Noble got tied to the back end; then Bret drove back to the hotel and left the wagon. He walked back to the livery to collect his horse and thought about everything they'd been through. He stopped by the State Police office and gave Jed Tatum a brief rundown on what had occurred since he'd been in Zapata last; Tatum was glad to hear that all had worked out for the best. He and Bret shook hands and Maverick walked away marveling at the difference between the local sheriffs and the state police.

By the time he got back to the hotel, everything was loaded and all were ready to go. The journey back to Little Bend would take longer than the hurried ride to the border, but it would be worth it. They had plenty of supplies, all the time in the world, and nobody chasing them.

XXXXXXXX

When they finally reached Little Bend they went straight to 'Maude's' and walked in, Doralice first, followed by Bart, then Bret and Beau. It was early evening and the place was almost empty. Maude was in her office, and when she looked up from her paperwork and saw her daughter she shrieked, jumped up and ran. Hugs, kisses, tears, and plenty of "Let me look at you's" followed, and when she'd lavished all the attention she could on Doralice she turned to Bart and almost killed him with her embrace. She was so overjoyed to have her daughter back and safe that she gave Bart nearly as much attention until he finally had to pry himself loose and sit down, exhausted.

Bret and Beau were given the appropriate hugs, kisses and 'thank-you's', and then she turned back to Doralice. "I can't believe you're back and safe," she kept telling her daughter until Doralice finally stopped her.

"I wouldn't be if it weren't for this man," and she put her arm around Bart and smiled at him. Maude came back to stand in front of him and take both his hands in hers. "I can never thank you enough for bringing her back to me. Are you alright? What happened down there?"

"I'm fine," Bart replied, but stopped Maude from giving him another hug. "Well, almost fine."

Bret stepped in as Beau stood back and watched everyone celebrate the return. "Maude, I promise we'll be back tomorrow, but there are two more Mavericks waiting to welcome us home, and we need to go see them. Good enough? Tomorrow?"

Maude nodded, understanding perfectly the necessity of leaving. Bart stood to go with his 'brothers' and Doralice ran up to him and put her arms lightly around his neck. "Thank you. I have my life because of you. I'll never forget that." She kissed him, and for the first time he kissed her back as if he meant it.

"If there are more of those available, I'll never let you," he murmured back to her, then tipped his hat to the ladies and followed Bret and Beau out the door.

The arrival at the 'mansion' was no less joyous; even Lily Mae was still awake, anticipating their arrival. Ben gripped his son in an embrace, then shook hands with Bret and Bart. Pappy seemed subdued and didn't say anything, just hugged Beau, then Bret, and finally Bart, whom he clasped to his chest and kissed on the head before turning back to his oldest. "Thank you, son."

Lily Mae served a special late supper, and the story of the charade and chase with the Federales was told and retold. Bart downplayed the bullet wounds and subsequent fever, and Pappy didn't try to pry more from his youngest, knowing that his oldest would tell him the real story later. When there was no more to tell everyone adjourned to the main room, where chairs and cigars were passed around, and Lily Mae left the men folk to discuss more somber matters.

Ben and Beauregard alternated catching the three 'boys' up on everything that had gone on in their absence, but when the last thing on the list remained, Ben deferred to his brother. "I've got some bad news, boys, and I thought you needed to hear it tonight, because as soon as it's known you're back in town, you'll be gettin' a visit from someone you haven't met yet.

"About a week after Bret and Beau left for Mexico, Fred Taylor and his father were killed out at their ranch. They were gettin' ready to start a cattle drive and had money in the house to pay all the hands, and some damn fool tried to rob 'em. Didn't get the cash, but dead is dead. Mrs. Taylor lost the baby some months back, and now she's lost Fred, too. And she needs somebody to boss her cattle drive. Fred did so much talkin' to her about growin' up with you boys that she's gonna be comin' round, askin' you to be her trail bosses."

"Know when this thing's set to start, Pappy?" Bart asked, thinking about the time he still needed to heal and prepare.

"End of the month, son," Pappy answered.

Hmmm. Almost three weeks. Bart looked at Bret; the look that passed between them said everything. This was going to be a two-man job; Beau had spent the time when the brothers were herding cattle in England, and he had little experience with this kind of thing.

They'd just seen Fred, happy and newlywed when they'd first returned to Little Bend, and now he was dead. It wasn't right, and there was only thing they could do about it.

"Thanks for the information, Pappy. We'll be expectin' a visit."

Once again the brothers exchanged a look that seemed to say it all. This wasn't the visit they'd planned, but that seemed to happen every time they planned something. It was the hand they were dealt, and they'd play the cards they got. That's all anybody could do.

Coming Next: Long Road Out of Eden


End file.
